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1  **> 


HILL-SIDE   FLOWERS. 


WITH    AN   INTRODUCTION    BY 


%\n  $e)r.  W™\*%  ^imjrson,  |.$. 


•'A  wreatli  that  cannot  fade,  of  flowers,  that  Wots 
Witli  most  success  when  all  besides  decay." 

COWPEK 


ftfaHRork: 

PI    BLISHED     FOR     Til  E     AUTHOR 

l-.v    OAKLTOB    A    rmi.I.Il'S,    2011    Ml-I.IiKllKY-STREET. 
I  856. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1855, 

BY  CARLTON  &    PHILLIPS, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Southern  District 

lit'  New-York. 


introduction. 


Who  does  not  love  flowers  ?  So  pure,  so  bright, 
so  beautiful  they  are,  they  seem  to  reflect  the 
smiles  of  Heaven.  The  infant  presses  them 
eagerly  to  its  lips,  and  the  old  man,  bending 
toward  the  grave,  gazes  with  delight  on  their 
graceful  forms  and  gorgeous  colors.  The  vil- 
lage school-boy,  amid  his  gleeful  frolics,  stops  to 
pluck  the  sweetly-opening  bud ;  and  the  May- 
day queen  exults  in  bearing  on  her  brow  the 
roseate  crown.  Other  ornaments  are  fancied  or 
contemned,  according  to  the  varying  circum- 
stances of  wealth,  position,  or  caprice.  But 
flowers  are  universal  ornaments.  The  forest- 
maidens  amid  savage  tribes,  and  the  noble  dam- 
sels attendant  on    England's  queen,  are    alike 


b  LNTKODDOTION. 

enchanted  by  their  fragrance  and  their  hue. 
The  rose  and  the  honey-suckle  climb  alike  upon 
the  undressed  corners  of  the  rude  cabin,  and  upon 
the  costly  lattices  of  titled  wealth.  The  same 
flowers  give  their  perfumes  to  the  lonely  cham- 
ber of  the  solitary  widow,  and  to  the  glittering 
saloons  of  festive  mirth.  They  vie  with  the 
diamond  on  the  brow  of  bridal  beauty,  and  they 
bloom  on  the  grave  where  loved  ones  sweetly 
sleep.  They  are  Heaven's  universal  gifts  to  the 
poorest  of  the  poor,  and  yet  "  Solomon  in  all  his 
glory  was  not  arrayed  like  one  of  these." 

Poetry  has  many  resemblances  to  flowers. 
Its  flow  of  measured  words,  its  sententious  form 
and  fanciful  imagery,  strongly  impress  the  mem- 
ory and  interest  the  fancy.  And  when,  as  in 
rhyme,  there  is  a  recurrence,  at  regular  inter- 
vals, of  similar  sounds,  the  pleasure  is  enhanced, 
especially  to  the  youthful  mind.  Who  has  not 
noticed  the  facility  and  fondness  with  which 
children  remember  poetic  stanzas?  "Who  does 
not,  even  in  age,  remember  those  simple  nurs- 
ery rhymes  which  are  singularly  diffused  in 
some  form   in   almost  every   land?     And  how 


tNTBODUCTIOK".  7 

many  lips,  in  maturer  Life,  whisper  that  sim- 
ple prayer  learned  in  infancy  at  a  mother's 
knee — 

"  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep." 

So  also  formulas  in  science  and  facts  in  history 
are  frequently  more  firmly  fixed  in  the  memory 
by  the  aid  of  verse. 

Nor  is  the  charm  of  poetry  confined  to  child- 
hood. Youth  blooming  into  maturity  is  em- 
phatically the  poetic  age.  The  unimpaired 
senses  drink  in  the  delights  of  earth,  and  air, 
and  sky.  The  vivid  fancy  throws  its  coloring- 
over  every  scene,  and  the  warm  affections  seek 
a  fervent  utterance.  Few  are  there  in  such  an 
age  who  have  not  essayed  to  clothe  some  of 
their  thoughts  in  the  robe  of  poesy.  And  in 
advanced  life  how  many  of  the  wisest  and 
strongest  have  uttered  their  noblest  sentiments 
and  highest  imaginings  in  such  a  form,  either  to 
satisfy  their  own  internal  promptings,  or  to  de- 
light and  instruct  the  millions  of  the  coming 
youth?  Even  in  old  age,  many  a  distinguished 
Christian   has   spoken  his   experience   and   his 


b  INTRODUCTION. 

hopes  in  the  form  of  some  well-remembered 
verse,  and  said,  in  life's  failing  moments,  with  a 
dying  Wesley, — 

"I  the  chief  of  sinners  am, 
But  Jesus  died  for  me." 

Every  land  has  its  legends  and  songs.  The 
wild  Indian  chief  speaks  in  poetic  figures  when 
he  proudly  terms  the  aim  his  father  and  the 
earth  his  mother.  The  old  Greek  felt  the  in- 
spiration of  the  spirit  of  poetry,  as  he  sat  upon 
his  mountain  summits  and  looked  forth  over  his 
island-gemmed  seas.  As  he  listened  to  the 
dasl ling  of  the  bold  waves  and  the  wild  whis- 
tling of  the  winds,  he  fancied  the  mountains  and 
oceans  to  be  filled  with  gods.  Pan  piped  in 
his  forests,  and  Apollo  played  at  the  sparkling 
fountains.  The  Gaelic  tribes,  in  their  northern 
abodes,  had  fancies  of  elf,  and  fairy,  and  en- 
chanted circles ;  and  they  embodied  in  verse 
those  romantic  legends  which  served  as  the  type 
of  those  since  known  as  Ossian's  Poems.  And 
oriental  nations,  in  the  warm  climate  of  "Araby 
the  Blest,"  had  their  Aladdin's  lamp  and  ring  of 


INTRODUCTION.  V 

Gyges,  and  signets  of  wondrous  power.  Their 
very  prose  is  filled  with  figures  and  imagery, 
fanciful  and  hyperbolical. 

Everywhere,  and  in  all  ages,  the  human  breast 
swells  with  the  love  of  the  beautiful.  Poetry 
and  flowers  are  daughters  of  the  beautiful. 
Mowers  are  the  poetry  of  the  gardens  and  fields; 
and  poetry  forms  its  loveliest  garlands  of  the 
flowers  of  speech.  The  essence  of  each  is  its 
power  to  excite  the  emotions  of  beauty  and 
delight.  The  flower  is  alike  admired,  as  a 
flower,  whether  it  be  medicinal,  poisonous,  or 
simply  ornamental ; — whether  it  grows  on  the 
briar,  the  vine,  or  the  tree  of  precious  fruit. 
It  may  be  more  highly  prized  for  its  associated 
virtues;  but  as  a  flower,  its  form,  its  fragrance, 
and  its  hues  determine  its  value.  So  is  it  with 
poetry.  Alike  it  may  enrobe  the  loftiest  teach- 
ings or  the  most  sensual  conceptions.  It  im- 
parts beauty  alike  to  the  heroic  verse  of  Homer, 
or  to  the  amorous  songs  of  Anacreon — to  the 
pure  and  sublime  uttorances  of  a  Milton,  or  to 
the  fascinating  yet  tainted  imaginings  of  a 
Byron.     It  adorns  alike  the   songs  which  are 


10  I  INTRODUCTION. 

hoard  in  the  temple  of  God,  or  the  lavs  which 
add  excitement  to  Bacchanalian  feasts. 

The  poet  should  be  a  true   man — a  lover  of 
his  race — a  pure,  elevated,  and  holy  teacher. 

But  as  a  poet,  having  been  impressed  with  the 
beautiful  and  the  sublime,  he  simply  writes 
either  to  gratify  his  own  taste  or  to  delight 
others.  It  is  true,  a  poem  may  abound  in  his- 
toric information,  pure  precepts,  strong  argu- 
ments, and  scientific  illustrations;  yet  these  are 
not  poetry.  They  may  be  uttered  without  its 
form.  So,  too,  poetry  may  exist  without  these 
high  accompaniments.  If  he  writes  to  please 
himself,  the  poet  gives  us  some  picture  of  his 
own  heart.  If  that  heart  be  unrenewed,  his 
fancyings  will  be  of  the  "earth,  earthy/'  If 
the  fountain  is  impure,  the  stream  cannot  be  of 
crystal.  If  he  writes  to  please  the  masses,  he 
will  find,  in  their  depraved  and  vitiated  taste, 
an  apology  for  utterances  which  offend  the  ear 
of  virtue.  Many  such  allusions,  especially  in 
the  older  poets  even  of  mightiest  mind,  are 
found  in  pages  which  else  are  resplendent  with 
thoughts  grand  and  sublime.     Many  for  a  time 


INTRODUCTION.  11 

soar  with  the  sun-gazing  eagle,  but  sink  to  earth 
again,  and,  with  soiled  plumage,  take  rank  with 
birds  of  night. 

Much  of  the  poetry  in  general  circulation  is 
either  light,  heartless,  and  valueless,  or  alluring, 
captivating,  and  pernicious.  Too  frequently  vice 
is  enrobed  in  beauty — vain  and  wicked  amuse- 
ments are  represented  as  refined  and  elevating 
— and  even,  with  Circean  skill,  the  poisonous 
cup  is  wreathed  with  fragrant  flowers.  Of 
poetry,  as  well  as  of  song,  it  may  be  said, 

"  Wicked,  and  lewd,  and  light  the  lay 

Tends  to  the  soul's  undoing, 
Widens  and  strews  with  flowers  the  way 

Down  to  eternal  ruin." 

To  secure  the  beautiful,  and  yet  to  reject  the 
poisonous,  selections  of  poetic  flowers  may  form 
bouquets  of  fragrant  odor  and  of  richest  hue,  alike 
personally  delightful,  and  suited  for  presents  to 
vounger  friends.  Such  a  collection  is  this  bou- 
quet of  "Hill-side  Flowers."  It  has  been  ar- 
ranged by  ladies  of  high  intellectual  culture  and 
of  refined  taste.  As  a  general  rule,  it  has  not 
been  prepared  from  works  in  ordinary  circula- 


L2  INTRODUCTION. 

tion,  but  has  sought  rather  to  present,  in  a  per- 
manent form,  either  original  contributions,  or 
selections  from  the  graceful  poetry  that  so  often 
adorns  the  periodica]  literature  of  the  day.  Nor 
will  these  flowers 

:  Waste  their  sweetness  on  the  desert  air." 

Not  for  personal  pleasure  or  gain  have  they  been 
culled.  The  profits  are  devoted  to  a  temple  of 
God  which  stands  in  a  lovely  rural  district  near 
the  banks  of  the  Hudson.  These  flowers  are  an 
offering  from  ladies  who  projected  the  enter- 
prise, and  who  desire  to  consecrate  them  to 
bloom  around  its  altar. 

Most  cordially  is  this  volume  commended  to 
the  youth  of  the  land— both  for  its  own  merits, 
and  for  the  benevolent  design  which  prompted 
its  preparation.  May  its  readers  add  to  intel- 
lectual acquirements  and  true  refinement  the 
higher  graces  <>f  Christian  purity  and  activity! 
and  when  they  have  ceased  to  bloom  on  earth. 
may  they,  in  oriental  phrase,  shine  as  the  "stars, 
those  everlasting  blossoms  of  heaven  !" 

M.  Simpson. 

PiTTBBURem,  August,  lv">~ 


Contents. 


PAGE 

HOPE Halleck.  19 

LIFE  AND  DEATH Anonymous.  22 

THE  HOUSEHOLDER John  Waters.  2 1 

NEARER  TO  THEE Sarah  Adams.  26 

SONNET.     (From  Petrarch.) H.  L.  B.  28 

THE  HEBREW  MOURNER Eastbuen.  31 

DAFFODILS Wordsworth.  33 

DO  WITH  THY  MIGHT Anonymous.  35 

THE  HEAVENLY  VISITANT John  Waters.  36 

WORK Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning.  39 

THE  ORPHAN'S  DREAM  OF  CHRISTMAS Anonymous.  40 

THE  PHANTOM Bayard  Taylor.  48 

THE  DYING  POET.     (From  De  Lamartine.) J.  M.  O.  51 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  WAVE H.  L.  B.  56 

FLOWER-TEACHING S.  A.  58 

THIRTY-FIVE N.  P.  Willis.  60 

Till'  I 'YPUESS-TUEF  OF  CEYLON J.  G.  Whittier.  62 


14  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

THE  All:  SPIRIT Cyra.    66 

SERENA]  >E.     (From  the  German  of  Uhland.) H.  L.  B.     68 

THE  CHRISTIAN Charles  Wesley.     69 

HUSH! Anonymous.     71 

THE  THREE  V<  ffCES Anonymous.    73 

MA  MIGNONNETTE S.  A.    75 

VENICE Thomas  Buchanan  Read.    79 

FROM  GOLD  TO  GRAY Anonymous.    81 

THE  LITTLE  BOY  THAT  DIED T.  D.  Robinson.    84 

THE  DIVINE  PILGRIM Anonymous.    86 

THE  NEW  JERUSALEM Anonymous.     88 

JUDEA Anonymous.    91 

FUTURITY Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning.    95 

THE  ANGEL  <  >E  DEATH H.  L.  B.    96 

THE  BUTTERFLY.     (From  De  Lamartine.) J.  M.  0.  100 

"ARE  WE  ALMOST  THERE  ?  " Mrs.  Dulanly.  101 

IN  THIS  DIM  WORLD Massey.  103 

FUNERAL  HYMN.     (From  the  German.)  Anonymous.  106 

THE  BUGLE  SONG Tennyson.  108 

ENIG  MAS.     (From  the  German  of  Sohiller.) . .  . .  Baseerville.  Ill 

IN  VOCATION" John  Wesley.  113 

NOT  LOST  ART  THOU  TO  ME John  Waters.  117 

TO  A  (LOVER C.  S.  E    120 

SUNDAY  EVENING Bishop  Eastburv  128 

ABIDE  IN  ME,  AND  I  IN  YOU Mrs.  Stowk.  123 

MORNING  PRAYER.     (From  Eichendorf.) .       .Baskbrvuxe.  127 


CONTENTS.  15 

PAGE 

MAY  FLOWERS William  Howitt.  128 

THE  M.VX'sh  »X  OF  REST Charles  James  Fox.  130 

BONNET.     (From  Michael  Angelo.) Glassford.  133 

CHILD'S  FAITH Mary  Howitt.  134 

Till:  GENIUS  OF  DEATH Croi.y.  137 

I'HI  I'.XD  SORROW Anonymous.  139 

IK  >W  IT.  LCEFDLLT Anonymous.  141 

MX  BELOVED  IS  MINE,  AND  I  AM  HIS Quarles.  143 

(  <  IMPORT Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning.  144 

SUMMER  STUDIES Mrs.  Stowe.  145 

RUTH Thomas  Buchanan  Read.  151 

CHOICE  COMPANIE Thomas  Atkinson.  153 

AT  NIGHT.     (From  the  German  of  Komer) . .  .  Baskerville.  155 

TIIK  EAR  OF  FAITH Wordsworth.  157 

THERE  WAS  SILENCE  IN  HEAVEN Anonymous.  158 

CONTEMPLATE  >N Ceoly.  160 

JERUSALEM Bayard  Taylor.  1G3 

STAXZAS.     (From  De  Lamartine.) J.  M.  O.  1G7 

THE  ANGELS  OF  GRIEF Wiiittier.  169 

A.UTDMN  FLOWERS Caroijne  Bowles.  170 

BET(  IXD  THE  RIVER Anonymous.  172 

HYMX  OF  LIGHT William  Pitt  Palmer.  174 

NKHEMIAH  TO  ARTAXERXES Knox.  179 

LITTLE  CHILDREN , A.  R.  181 

THE  IMAGE  OF  THE  DEAD Mrs.  Hkmans.  182 

COTTAGE  CHILDREN  183 


16  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

INVOCATION  TO  SLEEP Mama  James.  188 

I'KAYKi:  DURING  BATTLE Korner.  189 

MILTON  ON  HIS  LOSS  OF  SIGHT Elizabeth  Lloyd.  103 

A  STORY  OF  SCHOOL W.  B.  Haet.  196 

NOT  TO  MYSELF  ALONE Anonymous.  199 

GERMAN  WATCHMAN'S  SONG Anonymous.  202 

THE  CHILD  OF  EARTH Mrs.  Norton.  201 

MY  FRIENDS Aldarakn y.  207 

SONNET.     (From  the  Italian  of  Petrarch.) H.  L.  15.  208 

CHARADE Praed.  211 

CONTENT.— DISCONTENT Trench.  213 

WOOD  HYMN Anonymous.  214 

ONLY  WAITING Anonymous.  217 

THE  FIRE-FLY Maria  James.  219 

PSALM  CXXXVII Halxeck..  223 

SORROW Aubrey  De  Veri:.  225 

THOU  GOD  SEEST  ME Montgomery.  226 

"PASSING  AWAY."— A  DREAM Pieupom .  229 

1  )1  ES  IR^J 232 

A  VISION  OF  IMMORTALITY Weston.  236 


illustrations. 


V- 


PAGE 

HOPE 2 

W\l  LINO-PLACE  OF  THE  JEWS 30 

BABE  AT  BETHLEHEM  44 

ANGEL  APPEAKING  TO  THE  SHEPHERDS 45 

VENICE 78 

THE  VALLEY  OF  SHECHEM 90 

(  WILE  ON  THE  RIVER 109 

RURAL  CHURCH 122 

ANGELIC  GUIDANCE 134 

RUTH  AND  NAOMI 150 

NIGHT 155 

MOSQUE  OF  OMAR  AT  JERUSALEM 162 

N EHEMIA II  AND  AKTAXERXES 178 

MILTt >N'S  HOUSE  AT  CHALFONT 192 

Til i:  REVEILLE 210 

JEWS  AT  BABYLON 222 


HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS 


i<r|f. 


There  is  an  evening- twilight  of  the  heart, 

When  its  wild  passion- waves   are   lull'd  to 
rest, 
And  the  eye  sees  life's  fairy  scenes  depart, 

As  fades  the  day-beam  in  the  rosy  West. 
'Tis  with  a  nameless  feeling  of  regret 

We  gaze  upon  them  as  they  melt  away, 
And  fondly  would  we  bid  them  linger  yet, 

But  Hope  is  round  us  with  her  angel  lay, 
Hailing  afar  some  happier  moonlight-hour ; 
Dear  are  her  whispers  still,  though  lost  their 
early  power. 


20  II  ILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

Iii  youth  the  cheek  was  crimson'd  with  her  glow, 
Her  smile  was  loveliest  then;  her  matin  song 
Was  heaven's  own  music,  and  the  note  of  woe 

Was  all  unheard  her  sunny  bowers  among. 
Life's  little  world  of  bliss  was  newly  born  ; 

"We  knew  not,  cared  not,  it  was  born  to  die, 
Flushed  with  the  cool  breeze  and  the  dews  of 
morn, 
With  dancing  heart  we  gazed  on  the  pure  sky, 
And  mock'd  the   passing  clouds  that  dimm'd 

its  blue, 
Like  our  own  sorrows  then,  as  fleeting  and  as 
few. 


And  manhood  felt  her  sway  too, — on  the  eye, 

Half  realized,  her  early  dreams  burst  bright; 
Her  promised  bower  of  happiness  seem'd  nigh, 

Its  days  of  joy,  its  vigils  of  delight ; 
And  though  at  times  might  lower  the  thunder- 
storm, 

And  the  red  lightnings  threaten,  still  the  air 
Was  balmy  with  her  breath,  and  her  loved  form, 

The  rainbow  of  the  heart,  was  hovering  there. 
'Tis  in  life's  noontide  she  is  nearest  seen, 
Her  wreath  the  summer  flower,  her  robe   of 
summer  green. 


HOPE.  21 

But  though  less  dazzling  in  her  twilight  dress, 

There's  more  of  heaven's  pure  beam  about  her 
now  ; 
That  angel-smile  of  tranquil  loveliness 

Which   the   heart  worships,  glowing  on  her 
brow ; 
That  smile  shall  brighten  the  dim  evening  star 

That  points  our  destined  tomb,  nor  e'er  depart 
Till  the  faint  light  of  life  is  fled  afar. 

And  hush'd  the  last  deep  beating  of  the  heart ; 
The  meteor-bearer  of  our  parting  breath, 
A  moon-beam  in  the  midnight  cloud  of  death. 


•1'J.  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


<Cife   aub   flratj}. 

"What  is  life,  Father?" 

"A  battle,  my  child, 

"Where  the  strongest  lance  may  fail; 
Whore  the  weariest  eyes  may  be  beguiled, 

And  the  stoutest  heart  may  quail ; 
"Where  the  foes  are  gathered  on  every  hand, 

And  rest  not  day  nor  night ; 
And  the  feeble  little  ones  must  stand 

In  the  thickest  of  the  fight." 

•'What  is  death,  Father?" 

"  The  rest,  my  child, 

When  the  strife  and  the  toil  are  o'er, 
And  the  angel  of  God,  who,  calm  and  mild, 

Says  we  need  tight  no  more; 
Who  driveth  away  the  demon  band, 

Bids  the  din  of  the  battle  cease; 
Takes  the  banner  and  spear  from  our  failing  hand 

And  proclaims  an  eternal  peace." 

"  Let  me  die,  Father !     I  tremble,  I  fear, 
To  yield  in  that  terrible  strife!" 


LIFE     AND     DEATH.  23 

"  The  crown  must  be  won  for  Heaven,  my  dear, 

In  the  battle-field  of  life. 
My  child,  though  thy  foes  are  strong  and  tried. 

He  loveth  the  weak  and  small ; 
The  angels  of  Heaven  are  on  thy  side, 

And  God  is  over  all ! " 


24  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


Clje   i)ouseIjolhr; 

WRITTEN     AFTER     REAPING     THE    TWENTIETH     CHAPTER     OF     THE     GOSPEL 
ACCORDING   TO    ST.    MATTHEW. 

( )  thou  blest  Householder ! — the  starry  dawn, 
The  light  crepuscular,  the  roseate  morn 

Long  since  have  melted  into  da}7 ! 
Long  since  the  glow  of  youth's  third  hour, 
And  the  bird's  song,  and  fancy's  magic  power, 

Have  traceless,  soundless,  pass'd  away. 

Ent'reth  the  sun  into  his  zenith  height, 
Ent'reth  the  mortal  into  manhood's  might, 

Op'neth  once  more  the  vineyard  gate, 
And  laborers  are  call'd! — but  Honor's  dream 
Entranced  my  soul,  and  made  religion  seem 

As  naught, — glory  was  man's  estate  ! 

The  ninth  hour  found  me  in  "the  market-place," 
Stern  passion  ruled  my  heart,  care  raark'd  my 
lace, — • 

How  could  I  hear  thy  blessed  call? 
To  glitter,  t<>  achieve,  to  lose,  to  gain, 
Form'd  every  hope  or  thought,  delight  <>r  pain, 

And  the  vain  world  was  still  my  all ! 


Tin:     HOUSEHOLDEE.  25 

The  tenth  hour  sounded  in  ray  startled  ear! 

Thy  gracious  Spirit  touch'd  ray  heart  with  tear! 

The  "harvest  ended"  with  the  day  ! 
That  thought  imbued  my  mind!  "not  saved?" 

too  late  % 
I  left  the  throng — I  sought  the  vineyard  gate, 

T  was  shut !     Death-struck,  I  turn'd  away. 

Low  sank  the  sun  adown  the  western  sky. 
And  all  my  cherish'd joys  were  vanity! 

Now.  neither  Earth  nor  Heaven  was  mine! 
Rejected,  lost,  abandon'd,  and  forlorn, 
Of  God,  it  seem'd,  not  loved,  of  Hell  the  scorn  ! 

No  hope,  or  human,  or  divine, 

Brighten'd  my  sad,  cold,  doubting,  desert  mind! 
The  world,  a  wilderness  !  Heaven's  self  unkind  ! 

"  Blackness  of  darkness"  was  my  way  ! 
Slow  struck  the  eleventh ! — Thy  light  around 

me  broke ! 
And  deep  into  my  soul  these  words  were  spoke: 

"Why  stand  ye  idle  all  the  day?" 

"Enter  and  work  throughout  the  waning  hour." 
Lord  of  the  vineyard,  grant  thy  servant  power 

To  labor,  love  Thee,  and  obey  ! 
Let  every  thought  or  word,  deed,  wish,  be  Thine! 
Thine  be  all  honor,  glory,  praise  divine ! 

And  let  Thy  pardon  close  my  day. 


2t)  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


tlrarrr  to  %\it. 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee — 

Nearer  to  thee ! 
E'en  though  it  be  a  cross 

That  raiseth  me, 
Still  all  my  song  shall  be, 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee — 

Nearer  to  thee ! 

Though  like  a  wanderer, 
The  sun  gone  down, 

Darkness  comes  over  me, 
My  rest  a  stone  ; 

Yet  in  my  dream  I'd  be 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee — 
Nearer  to  thee ! 

There  let  the  way  appear 
Steps  unto  heaven ; 

All  that  thou  sendest  me 
In  mercy  given ; 

Angels  to  beckon  me 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee — 
Nearer  to  thee ' 


NEABEE     TO     THEE.  27 

Then  with  my  waking  thoughts. 

Bright  with  thy  praise, 
Out  of  my  stony  griefs 

Bethel  I  '11  raise ; 
So  by  my  woes  to  be 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee — ■ 

Nearer  to  thee ! 

Or  if  on  joyful  wing, 

Cleaving  the  sky, 
Sun,  moon,  and  stars  forgot, 

Upward  I  fly  ; 
Still  all  my  song  shall  be 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee — 

Nearer  to  thee ! 


28  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


*>0tttUt 


FROM    THE    ITALIAS   OF   PETRAKCfl. 


I  lite  lamenting  my  departed  years, 

Spent  in  the  vain  love  of  an  earthly  thing ; 
No  flight  essaying,  though  my  soaring  wing 

Had  borne  me  on  perchance  to  lofty  spheres. 

O  Thou  who  seest  my  misery  and  my  tears, 
Invisible,  eternal,  Heavenly  King, 
Help  for  this  soul,  feeble  and  wandering, 

Support  her  weakness  and  allay  her  fears. 
So  that  if  I  have  lived  in  storm  and  strife, 
Shelter'd  in  peaceful  haven  I  may  rest ; 

And  my  last  hour,  O  be  Thou  near  to  aid, 

On  Thee,  thou  knowest,  my  only  hope  is  staid. 


. 


m 


Si^i.^"4™"-  ■■•■  'p^T 


' 


THE     HEBREW     MOURNER.  31 


Psalm  cii,  1-16. 

Why,  trembling  and  sad,  dost  thou  stand  there 

and  mourn, 
Son  of  Israel,  the  days  that  can  never  return? 
And  why  do  those  tear-drops  of  misery  fall 
On  the  moldering  ruin,  the  perishing  wall  ? 

Was  yon  city,  in  rohes  of  the  heathen  now  clad, 
Once  the  flourishing  Zion  where  Judah  was  glad? 
And  those  walls,  that  disjointed  and   scatter'd 

now  lie, 
Were  they  once  vow'd  to  Heaven  and  hallow'd 

on  high  ? 

Yet   why   dost   thou  mourn?     O,  to   gladness 

awaken ! 
Though  Jehovah  this  city  of  God  has  forsaken, 
He  preserves  for  his  people  a  city  more  fair, 
Which  a  ruthless  invader  no  longer  shall  share. 

No  longer  the  tear  for  your  city  shall  flow  ; 
No  longer  thy  bosom  the  sad  sigh  bestow ; 
But  night  shall  be  follow'd  by  glorious  day, 
And  sorrow  and  sierhins  shall  vanish  away. 


32  HILL-SIDE     FLO  W  I    RS. 

The   Prince  whom  ye  pierced  and  nailed  to  the 

tree, 
There  reigns  in  ineffable  glory  for  thee; 
There   Jesus,  who   died   for  your  sins  on  earth, 

lives : 
1 1 asto,  haste  to  his  bosom — he  sees  and  forgives. 


i>Ai' fodils.  33 


Jhffobils. 


1  wander'd  lonely  as  a  cloud 

That  floats  on  high  o'er  vales  and  hills, 
"When  all  at  once  I  saw  a  crowd, 

A  host  of  golden  daffodils, 
Beside  the  lake,  beneath  the  trees, 
Flutt'ring  and  dancing  in  the  breeze. 


Continuous  as  the  stars  that  shine 
And  twinkle  on  the  milky  way, 

They  stretch'd  in  never-ending  line 
Along  the  margin  of  a  bay. 

Ten  thousand  saw  I  at  a  glance, 

Tossing  their  heads  in  sprightly  dance. 


The  waves  beside  them  danced,  but  they 
Outdid  the  sparkling  waves  in  glee : 

A  poet  could  not  but  be  gay 
In  such  a  jocund  company. 

I  gazed,  and  gazed, — but  little  thought 

What  wealth  the  show  to  me  had  brought. 


31  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

For  oft,  when  on  my  couch  I  lie, 
In  vacant  or  in  pensive  mood, 

They  flash  upon  that  inward  eye 
Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude  ; 

And  then  my  heart  with  pleasure  fills, 

And  dances  with  the  daffodils. 


DO     "WITH     THY     MIGHT.  35 


Do  something — do  it  soon  with  all  thy  might : 
An  angel's  wing  would  droop  if  long  at  rest, 
And  God,  inactive,  were  no  longer  blest. 

Some  high  or  holy  enterprise  of  good 

Contemplate  till  it  shall  possess  thy  mind, 

Become  thy  study,  pastime,  rest  and  food, 
And  kindle  in  thy  heart  a  flame  refined. 
Pray  Heaven  for  firmness  thy  whole  soul  to 
bind 

To  this  thy  purpose — to  begin,  pursue 

With  thoughts  all  fix'd,  and  feelings  purely 
kind, 

Strength  to  complete,  and  witli  delight  review, 

And   strength  to   give  the  praise  where   all 
is  due! 


oO  hill-side    flowers. 


8 l)f  iuabfnhj  Visitant. 

Behold,  I  stand  at  the  door,  and  knock  :  If  any  man  hear  my  voice,  and  open 
the  door,  I  will  come  in  to  him,  and  will  sup  with  Mm,  and  he  with  me. 

Kev.  iii,  20. 


Welcome,  bright  guest  of  Heaven! 
Lo,  at  the  outward  threshold  of  my  door, 
I  kneel  to  Thee  with  grace  unknown  before, — 

Thy  knock  my  heart  hath  riven! 

I  know  Thee  who  Thou  art ! 
Spirit  of  my  ascended  Lord  and  King! 
Enter,  possess,  and  rule! — let  me  Thee  bring 

Within  my  heart  of  heart! 

'Tis  all  1  have  to  give  ! 
M\  soul  redeem'd,  forever  be  Thine  own  ! 
Forever  at  the  footstool  of  Thy  throne, 

Upward  would  gaze  and  live. 

And  art  Thou  here  at  last? 
Will  Thou  convert,  accept,  with  me  abide? 
May  I  to  Thee  each  hope,  each  care  confide? 

Couldst  Thou  forgive  the  past? 


THE     HEAVENLY     VISITANT,  37 

This  heart  of  guilt,  of  stone? 
This  wayward,  tickle,  contumacious  soul? 
And  of  my  secret  sins,  the  Long,  long  roll, 
Couldst  Thou  for  these  atone  ? 

All  power  from  heaven  is  Thine  ! 
Long  have  I  known  thy  glorious  works,  O  Lord  ! 
But    them,    not   Thee,    have    worshiped    and 

adored, — 
Now  Thou  thyself  art  mine ! 

Spirit  of  God  !  bright  guest ! 
God  of  the  Bible  !  of  my  inmost  heart ! 
God  of  my  pardon'd  soul !  in  every  part 

My  comforter,  my  rest ! 


Exceeding  great  reward 
Of  Thine  atoning,  sacrificial  love, 
How  hast  Thou  raised  my  thoughts  this  world 
above, 

Saviour,  Deliverer,  Guard ! 


Such,  such  Thou  art  to  me  ! 
So  here,  e'en  here,  within  mine  inmost  breast, 
Reign  Thou  o'er  all,  and  let  me  be  Thy  guest, 

And  let  me  sup  with  Thee ! 


38  JIILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

Assist  thy  servant,  Lord, 
In  holy  converse  bland,  to  sup  with  thee! 
As  face  doth  answer  face,  set  each  doubt  free, 

By  thine  own  precious  word  ! 

Sublime  each  thought ;  the  soul, 
As  leaven,  leaveneth  the  whole;  restore 
To  life,  till  love  no  compass  hath  for  more, 

And  heaven  imbue  the  whole. 

The  whole,  the  whole  be  Thine  ! 
Yain  world,  with  all  thy  blandishments,  adieu ! 
Bright  Guest !  blest  Host !  I  feel  thy  promise  true ! 

I  taste  the  life  divine. 


WORK.  39 


Mark. 

What  are  we  set  on  earth  for  %  Say  to  toil — 
Nor  seek  to  leave  thy  tending  of  the  vines. 
For  all  the  heat  o'  the  day,  till  it  declines, 

And  Death's  mild  curfew  shall  from  work  assoil. 

God  did  anoint  thee  with  his  odorous  oil 
To  wrestle,  not  to  reign ;  and  he  assigns 
All  thy  tears  over,  like  pure  crystallines, 

For  younger  fellow-workers  of  the  soil 

To  wear  for  amulets.     So  others  shall 

Take  patience,  labour,  to  their  heart  and  hands, 
From  thy  hands,  and  thy  heart,  and  thy  brave 
cheer, 

And  God's  grace  fructify  through  thee  to  all. 

The  least  flower,  with   a  brimming  cup,  may 
stand, 
And  share  its  dew-drop  with  another  near. 


40  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


(Tljc  (Dqjjmifs  §)ram  of  Cfni^tma^. 

It  was  Christmas  Eve — and  lonely. 

By  a  garret-window  high, 
Where  the  city  chimney  barely 

Spared  a  hand's  breadth  of  the  sky. 
Sat  a  child  in  age, — but  weeping, 

With  a  face  so  small  and  thin, 
That  it  seem'd  too  scant  a  record 

To  have  eight  years  traced  therein. 


O,  grief  looks  most  distorted 

When  his  hideous  shadow  lies 
On  the  clear  and  sunny  life-stream 

That  doth  fill  a  child's  blue  eyes  ! 
But  her  eye  was  dull  and  sunken, 

And  the  whiten'd  cheek  was  gaunt ; 
And  the  blue  veins  on  the  forehead 

Were  the  penciling  of  want. 


ORPHAN'S    DREAM    OF    CHRI8TMA8.  41 

And  she  wept  for  years  like  jewels, 

Till  tlie  last  year's  bitter  gall, 
Like  the  acid  of  the  story, 

In  itself  had  melted  all; 
Bui  the  Christmas  time  returned, 

As  an  <»ld  friend,  for  whose  eye 
She  would  take  down  all  the  pictures 

Sketch'd  by  faithful  memory. 

Of  those  brilliant  Christmas  seasons, 

When  the  joyous  laugh  went  round  ; 
When  sweet  words  of  love  and  kindness 

Were  no  unfamiliar  sound  ; 
When,  lit  by  the  log's  red  luster, 

She  her  mother's  face  could  see, 
And  she  rock'd  the  cradle,  sitting 

On  her  own  twin  brother's  knee. 


Of  her  father's  pleasant  stories, 

Of  the  riddles  and  the  rhymes, 
All  the  kisses  and  the  presents 

That  had  mark'd  those  Christmas  times. 
T  was  as  well  that  there  was  no  one 

(For  it  were  a  mocking  strain) 
To  M'ish  her  a  merry  Christmas, 

For  that  could  not  come  again. 


42  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 

How  there  came  a  time  of  struggling, 

When,  in  spite  of  love  and  faith, 
Grinding  poverty  would  only 

In  the  end  give  place  to  death  ; 
How  her  mother  grew  heart-broken, 

When  her  toil-worn  father  died, 
Took  her  baby  in  her  bosom, 

And  was  buried  bv  his  side. 


How  she  clung  unto  her  brother, 

As  the  last  spar  from  the  wreck  ; 
Bat  stern  Death  had  corae  between  them 

While  her  arms  were  round  his  neck. 
There  were  now  no  loving  voices ; 

And,  if  few  hands  offer'd  bread, 
There  were  none  to  rest  in  blessing 

On  the  little  homeless  head. 


Or,  if  any  gave  her  shelter, 

It  was  less  of  joy  than  fear  ; 
For  they  welcomed  Crime  more  warmly 

To  the  self-same  room  with  her. 
But  at  length  they  all  grew  weary 

Of  their  sick  and  useless  guest ; 
She  must  try  a  work-house  welcome 

For  the  helpless  and  distress'd. 


ORPHAN'S     DREAM    OF    CHRISTMAS.        43 

But  she  prayed  ;  and  the  Unsleeping 

In  His  ear  that  whisper  caught ; 
So  he  sent  down  sleep,  who  gave  her 

Such  a  respite  as  she  sought ; 
Drew  the  fair  head  to  her  bosom, 

Press'd  the  wetted  eyelids  close, 
And  with  softly-falling  kisses, 

Lull'd  her  gently  to  repose. 

Then  she  dream'd  the  angels,  sweeping 

With  their  wings  the  sky  aside, 
Raised  her  swiftly  to  the  country 

Where  the  blessed  ones  abide : 
To  a  bower  all  flush'd  with  beauty, 

By  a  shadowy  arcade, 
Where  a  mellowness  like  moonlight 

By  the  Tree  of  Life  was  made ; 

Where  the  rich  frnit  sparkled  starlike, 

And  pure  flowers  of  fadeless  dye 
Pour'd  their  fragrance  on  the  waters 

That  in  crystal  beds  went  by  ; 
Where  bright  hills  of  pearl  and  amber 

Closed  the  fair  green  valleys  round, 
And  with  rainbow  light,  but  lasting, 

Were  their  glist'ning  summits  crown'd. 


44  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 

Then,  that  distant-burning  glory, 

"Mid  a  gorgeousness  of  light! 
The  long  vista  of  Archangels 

( Jould  scarce  chasten  to  her  sight. 
There  sat  ( >ne  !  and  her  heart  told  her 

T  was  the  same  who,  for  our  sin, 
Was  once  born  a  little  baby 

"  In  the  stable  of  an  inn." 


There  was  music — O,  such  music! — 
They  were  trying  the  old  strains. 


ORPHAN'S     DICK  AM     OF    CHRISTMAS 


-ir. 


That  a  certain  group  of  shepherds 
Heard  on  old  Judea's  plains. 

But,  when  that  divinest  chorus 
To  a  soft'ned  trembling  fell, 

Love's  true  ear  discern'd  the  voices 
That  on  earth  she  loved  so  well. 


46  HILL  -SIDE    F  L  0  W  E  K  S  . 

At  a  tiny  grotto's  entrance 

A  fair  child  her  eyes  behold, 
With  his  ivory  shoulders  hidden 

'Xeath  his  curls  of  living  gold  ; 
And  he  asks  them,  "  Is  she  coming  ? : 

But  ere  any  one  can  speak, 
The  white  arms  of  her  twin  brother 

Are  once  more  about  her  neck. 


Then  they  all  come  round  her  greeting 

But  she  might  have  well  denied 
That  her  beautiful  young  sister 

Is  the  poor  pale  child  that  died  ; 
And  the  careful  look  hath  vanish'd 

From  her  father's  tearless  face, 
And  she  does  not  know  her  mother 

Till  she  feels  the  old  embrace. 


Ah,  from  that  ecstatic  dreaming 

Must  she  ever  wake  again, 
To  the  cold  and  cheerless  contrast, - 

To  a  life  of  lonely  pain? 
But  her  Maker's  sternest  servant 

To  her  side  on  tiptoe  stept ; 
Told  his  message  in  a  whisper, — 

And  she  stirr'd  not  as  she  slepl  ! 


ORPHAN'S     DBEAM    OF    CHEISTMAS. 

Now  the  Christmas  morn  was  breaking 

With  a  dim  uncertain  hue, 
And  the  chilling  breeze  of  morning 

Came  the  broken  window  through  ; 
And  the  hair  upon  her  forehead, 

Was  it  lifted  by  the  blast, 
Or  the  brushing  Mings  of  seraphs 

With  their  burden  as  they  pass'd? 

All  the  festive  bells  were  chiming 

To  the  myriad  hearts  below  ; 
But  that  deep  sleep  still  hung  heavy 

On  the  sleeper's  thoughtful  brow. 
To  her  quiet  face  the  dream-light 

Had  a  ling1  ring  glory  given  ;• 
But  the  child  herself  was  keeping 

Her  Christmas-day  in  heaven  ! 


Iv  1I1I,L-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


(lIjc    f|atttom. 


Agaix  I  sit  within  the  mansion, 

In  the  old,  familiar  seat ; 
And  shade  and  sunshine  chase  each  other 

O'er  the  carpet  at  my  feet. 

But  the  sweet-briers'  arms  have  wrestled  upward. 

In  the  summers  that  are  past ; 
And  the  willow  trails  its  branches  lower 

Than  when  I  saw  them  last. 

They  strive  to  shut  the  sunshine  wholly 

From  out  the  haunted  room  ; 
To  fill  the  house,  that  once  was  joyful, 

With  silence  and  with  gloom. 

And  many  kind  remember'd  faces 

Within  the  doorway  come — 
Yoices  that  wTake  the  sweeter  music 

(  M"  one  that  now  is  dumb. 

They  sing,  in  tones  as  glad  as  ever, 
The  songs  she  loved  to  hear: 


[UK     PHANTOM.  49 

They  bruit  1  the  rose  in  summer  garlands, 

Whose  flowers  to  her  were  dear. 


And  still  her  footsteps  in  the  passage, 

Her  blushes  at  the  door, 
Her  timid  words  of  maiden  welcome, 

Come  back  to  me  once  more. 

And,  all  forgetful  of  my  sorrow, 

Unmindful  of  my  pain, 
I  think  she  has  but  newly  left  me, 

And  soon  will  come  again. 

She  stays  without,  perchance,  a  moment, 
To  dress  her  dark-brown  hair  ; 

I  hear  the  rustle  of  her  garments — 
Her  light  step  on  the  stair ! 

O  flutt'ring  heart !  control  thy  tumult, 

Lest  eyes  profane  should  see 
My  cheeks  betray  the  rush  of  rapture 

Her  coming  brings  to  me  ! 

She  tames  long ;  but  lo  !  a  whisper 

Beyond  the  open  door, 

And,  gliding  through  the  quiet  sunshine, 

A  shadow  on  the  floor ! 
3 


50  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

All !  'tis  the  whispering  pine  that  calls  me, 

The  vine  whose  shadow  strays  ; 
And  m}-  patient  heart  must  still  await  her, 

]S"or  chide  her  long  delays. 

But  my  heart  grows  sick  with  weary  waiting, 

As  many  a  time  before ; 
The  foot  is  ever  at  the  threshold, 

Yet  never  passes  o'er. 


TllH    DYING     POET.  51 


iTljc  iniitij  §oet. 

FROM     THE    FRENCH    OF    DE    LAMARTINE. 

The  lyre  in  breaking  breathes  a  tone  of  power ; 
The  fading  lamp,  while  in  its  dying  hour, 

Flashes  its  parting  ray  of  quiv'ring  light ; 
The  dying  swan  beholds  the  aznre  sky : 
T  is  man  alone  who  looks  on  days  gone  by, 

And  as  he  counts  them,  mourns  their  rapid 
flight. 

And  what  were  worth  the  days  that  we  deplore, 
A  sun,  a  sun ;  an  hour,  and  then  an  hour, 

Each  one  resembling  that  before  it  flown  ; 
One  takes  away  that  which  another  brings 
Labor,  repose  and  grief  fly  on  its  wings. 

Thus  goes  the  day,  and  then  the  night  is  gone. 

Ah  !  let  him  weep  whose  clinging  hands  embrace, 
As  twining  ivy  clasps  the  broken  vase, 

The  ruined  wreck  of  years — his  hopes  must 
foil— 


52  HILL-SIDE    FLOWEKS. 

For  me — not  rooted  in  this  earthly  bower, 
I  go,  without  an  effort,  like  the  flower, 
Borne  lightly  on  the  gentle  evening  gale. 


In  the  vain  hope  of  glory's  brilliant  dream, 
Man  throws,  in  passing  to  the  rapid  stream, 

A  name  that  each  day  weakens  in  its  flow. 
With  the  bright  wreck,  Time's  dashing  billows 

play ; 

From  age  to  age  it  floats — and  then  its  ray 
Is  quench'd  in  dark  Oblivion's  depths  below. 


I  cast  another  name  upon  the  wave : 

As  the  wind  wills,  it  floats,  or  finds  a  grave, 

And  shall  I  then  myself  more  noble  deem  ? 
The  swan,  who  to  the  vaults  eternal  flies, 
Friends  does  he  ask  if  still  the  shadow  lies, 

Thrown  by  his  wings  upon  the  turf  of  green  ? 

*■ 
Then  wherefore  sing'st  thou?  Ask  the  nightingale, 
Why,  through  the  night,  her  soft  tones  never  fail 

To  mingle  with  the  brook's  low  minstrelsy  ? 
I  sing,  my  friends,  as  man  his  breath  inhales, 
As  coos  the  dove,  as  sigh  the  autumn  gales, 

As  the  stream  murmurs  on  in  melody. 


THE    DYING    POET.  53 

'T  is  all  my  life — to  love,  and  pray,  and  sing, 
Of  all  the  joys  that  o'er  existence  fling 

Their  charm,  at  parting,  I  regret  alone 
The  ardent  sigh  that  softly  mounts  above, 
The  lyre's  ecstasy,  the  silent  love 

Of  a  fond  heart,  when  press'd  against  mine 
own. 


At  beauty's  feet,  to  feel  the  lyre's  deep  thrill, 
From  chord  to  chord,  to  see  the  harmonious  rill 

Steal  in  the  breast,  that  plighted  love  endears, 
Causing  the  tears  from  hidden  founts  to  flow, 
As  from  a  chalice  filled,  the  winds  that  blow 

Gem  all  the  ground  with  bright  Aurora's  tears. 


To  see  the  modest  virgin's  plaintive  glance, 
Turning  in  sadness  to  the  blue  expanse, 

As  if  to  fly  with  sounds  that  take  their  flight ; 
Then  falling  on  yon,  fill'd  with  light  divine, 
Under  those  drooping  lids  her  deep  eyes  shine, 

Like  the  bright  fire  that  trembles  in  the  night. 


To  see  the  shade  of  thought  pass  o'er  her  brow, 

And  while  denied  free  utterance — soft  and  low, 

To  bcai-  the  word  break  on  the  silent  hour — 


54  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 

Hove — the  word  which  echoes  from  high  heaven, 
This  word — the  word,  to  gods  and  men  both 
given, 
"Which  to  call  forth  a  sigh  alone  hath  power. 

How  profitless  the  word  !  regret !  a  sigh ! 
My  soul  is  on  the  wing  of  death  borne  high 

To  where  their  instinct  my  desires  bear ; 
I  go  where  Hope  her  flood  of  radiance  pours, 
Where  goes  the  sound  that  from  my  lute  now 
soars, 

Where  go  the  sighs  that  I  have  breath'd  in  air. 

As  the  bird  sees  amid  the  shades  of  death. 
So  Faith,  the  soul's  clear  eye,  while  ebbs  my 
breath, 
With  glance  prophetic,  shows  me  things  to 
come ; 
How  oft  amid  the  fields  of  bliss,  my  soul 
Hath  soared  above  the  mists  and  shades  that  roll 
About  the   death,   thus   cloth'd  in   shadowy 
gloom. 

Break,  cast  unto  the  winds,  the  flame,  the  wave, 
The  lute  which  never  but  one  answer  gave : 
I  go  to  touch  the  lyre  of  seraphim. 


THE    DYING    POET.  55 

Like  them,  immortal,  I  with  joy  may  guide, 
With  my  lyre's  tones,  suspended  heavens  that 
glide 
Unto  the  music  of  my  lofty  hymn. 

Soon — but  Death's  icy  hand  hath   touch'd  the 

string — 
'T  is  broken — -as  it  breaks,  the  chord  doth  fling 

A  deeply  plaintive  sound  on  empty  space ; 
My  lute  is  silent. — Friends,  take  up  your  lyre ; 
Let  my  soul  pass  from  this  world  to  a  higher, 

Amid  the  sacred  concerts  of  your  praise  ! 


56  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


C|c  Stottfl  of  the  SRairt 

I  am  free !  I  am  free  !   I  have  slumber'd  long 

In  the  winter's  icy  chain  ; 
But  the  hills  and  the  shores  shall  resound  to  my 
song 

As  I  glide  to  the  billowy  main. 

I  lay  like  a  giant  wrapp'd  in  sleep, 
Till  arous'd  by  the  Spring's  soft  call ; 

But  I  rise  in  the  might  of  the  swelling  dee]), 
And  I  burst  my  frozen  thrall. 

Onward  I  dash  with  arrowy  spring, 

And  I  bound  in  frolicsome  glee ; 
For  mine  is  the  joy  of  an  untamed  thing — 

The  imprison' d  wave  is  free  ! 

O  mine  are  the  sparkles  of  sunny  gold  ! 

And  mine  the  foamy  crest ! 
And  the  changing  skies  their  hues  unfold 

On  my  proudly  heaving  breast ! 

< )  mine  are  the  showers  of  pearly  spray, 
Which  I  fling  on  the  pebbly  strand! 


THE     SONG     OF     THE     WAVE.  57 

And  the  music  is  mine  of  the  wind's  wild  lay, 
The  tones  of  the  spirit-land  ! 

My  bosom  bears  the  white-sail'd  bark 

To  the  distant   Indian  shore; 
And  its  crystal  gleams  with  a  crimson  spark 

At  the  Hash  of  the  sun-lit  oar. 

(  toward  I  rush  in  my  wild  career; 

Yet  tempt  not  mine  hour  of  wrath, 
When  my  dark  and  swollen  form  I  rear 

Round  the  proud  ship's  ocean  path. 

Beware  !   beware  !   when  in  thunder  speaks 

The  voice  of  my  rolling  surge! 
And  the  dismal  wail  of  the  cold  wind  shrieks 

The  mariner's  lonely  dirge! 

Ye  are  mine — ye  are  mine — in  my  hour  of  pride, 
Ye  that  sport  with  a  thing  like  me ! 

Ye  that  dart*  your  fragile  barks  to  guide 
O'er  the  waves  of  the  wild  blue  sea ! 

The  loved  of  many  a  home  shall  sleep 

In  the  ocean's  coral  cave  ; 
For  what  human  might  can  stay  the  sweep 

Of  the  untamed,  unqual'd  wave! 


58  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


jfUtowr-Cmjfhtj. 

Blue-eyed  child  of  Spring, 
Lowly,  loving  thing, 
Lessons  full  ye  bring  ! 

Modest  Periwinkle! 

Clinging  to  the  earth, 
Her,  who  gave  thee  birth, 
Cherishing  her  worth — 

Grateful  Periwinkle  ! 

Sheltering  her  so, 

When  the  rough  winds  blow, 

And  the  sun  is  low, 

Loving  Periwinkle  ! 

Greenest  in  the  frost, 
When  the  sunbeam's  lost, 
And  the  dead  leaf's  toss'd — 
Patient  Periwinkle ! 

V^ig'rous  in  the  cold 
Of  the  snow-drift's  fold, 
Like  true  heart,  and  bold, 
Noble  Periwinkle  ! 


FLOWER-TEACHING.  59 

First  to  ope  thine  eyes, 
Blue  as  April  skies, 
Where  a  tear-drop  lies, 

Hopeful  Periwinkle ! 

Smiling  to  the  sun, 
Thanks  for  what  he 's  done, 
Thoughtful  little  one  ! 

Loyal  Periwinkle ! 

Welcoming  the  flowers 

To  the  sunny  hours, 

And  their  waiting  bowers, 

Courteous  Periwinkle ! 

Friendly  is  thy  hue, 
Type  of  loving  true, 
Flower,  fair  and  blue — 

Faithful  Periwinkle ! 

Upward  thou  dost  turn, 
Holy  truths  we  learn, 
Heaven  we  discern ! 

Sacred  Periwinkle ! 


60  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


Oirtn-Jftbf. 

"THE  YEARS  OP  MAN'S  LIFE  ATtE  THREESCORE  AND  TEN." 

()  wkauy  heart,  thou'rt  half-way  home! 

We  stand  on  life's  meridian  height — 
As  far  fnun  childhood's  morning  come 

As  to  the  grave's  forgetful  night. 
Give  youth  and  hope  a  parting  tear, 
Hope  promised  but  to  bring  ns  lien-. 

And  Keason  takes  the  guidance  now — 
One  backward  look — the  last — the  last ! 
One  silent  tear — lor  youth  is  past ! 

Who  goes  with  Hope  and  Passion  back? 

A\  no  comes  with  me  and  Mem'ry  on? 
< ),  lonely  looks  the  downward  track — • 

Joy's  music  hush'd — Hope's  roses  gone! 
To  pleasure  and  her  giddy  troop. 

Farewell  without  a  sigh  or  tear! 
Bui  hear!  gives  way  and  spirits  droop 

To  think  that  love  may  leave  us  here! 
Have  we  no  charm  when  youth  is  flown — 
Midway  to  death  left  sad  alone? 


in  i  im  v-ki  v  ]•:.  61 

Yet  stay !  as  'twere  a  twilight  star 
That  sends  its  thread  across  the  wave, 

I  see  a  bright'ning  light  from  far, 
Steal  down  a  path  beyond  the  grave ! 

And  now,  bless  God  !  its  golden  line 

<  nines  o'er  and  lights  my  shadowy  way, 
And  shows  a  dear  hand  clasp'd  in  mine  ! 
But  list  what  those  sweet  voices  say ! 
The  better  land  's  in  sight, 
And  by  its  chast'ning  light, 
Gilding  thy  pathway  in  its  even, 
Will  guide  thy  spirit  safe  within  the  gate  of 
heaven ! 


62  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 


iTljc  Cjjrrm-Crjet  of  (tcnlon. 


Ibn  Batttta,  the  celebrated  Mussulman  traveler  of  the  fourteenth 
century,  speaks  of  a  cypress-tree  in  Ceylon,  universally  held  sacred  by 
the  inhabitants,  the  leaves  of  which  were  said  to  fall  only  at  long  and 
uncertain  periods  ;  and  he  who  had  the  happiness  to  find  and  cat  one  of 
them,  was  restored  at  once  to  youth  and  vigor.  The  traveler  saw  several 
venerable  Jogees,  or  saints,  sitting  silent  and  motionless  under  the  tree, 
patiently  waiting  the  fulling  of  a  leaf. 


They  sat  in  silent  watchfulness 
The  sacred  cypress-tree  about, 

And  from  the  wrinkled  brows  of  Age 
Their  failing  eyes  look'd  out. 

Gray  Age  and  Sickness  waiting  there, 
Through  weary  night  and  ling'ring  day  ; 

Grim  as  the  idols  at  their  side, 
And  motionless  as  they. 

Unheeded  in  the  boughs  above, 
The  song  of  Ceylon's  birds  was  sweet ; 

I  *  li-ccii  of  tlicni,  tlic  island  flowers 
Bloom'd  brightly  at  their  feet. 


CYPRESS-TREE    OF    CEYLON.  63 

O'er  them  the  tropic  night-storm  swept, 
The  thunder  crash'd  on  rock  and  hill  ; 

The  lightning  wrapp'd  them  like  a  shroud, 
Yet  there  they  waited  still  ! 

What  was  the  world  without  to  them? 

The  Moslem's  sunset  call — the  dance 
Of  Ceylon's  maids — the  passing  gleam 

Of  battle-flag  and  lance  ? 

They  waited  for  that  falling  leaf 

Of  which  the  wand'ring  Jogees  sino-, 

Which  lends  once  more  to  wintry  Age 
The  greenness  of  its  Spring. 

O  !  if  these  poor  and  blinded  ones 
In  trustful  patience  wait  to  feel 

O'er  torpid  pulse  and  failing  limb 
A  youthful  freshness  steal : 

Shall  we,  who  sit  beneath  that  Tree 
Whose  healing  leaves  of  life  are  shed 

In  answer  to  the  breath  of  prayer, 
Upon  the  waiting  head  : 

Not  to  restore  our  failing  forms, 

Nor  build  the  spirit's  broken  shrine, 


64  HILL-SIDE    FLOWEE8. 

But  on  the  fainting  Soul  to  shed 
A  Light  and  life  divine  : 

Shall  wo  grow  weary  at  our  watch, 
And  murmur  at  the  long  delay? 

Impatient  of  our  Father's  time 
And  his  appointed  way? 

Or  shall  the  stir  of  outward  things 
Allure  and  claim  the  Christian's  eye. 

When  on  the  heathen  watcher's  ear 
Their  powerless  murmurs  die? 

Alas!  a  deeper  test  of  faith 

Than  prison-cell  or  martyr's  stake, 

The  self-abasing  watchfulness 
Of  silent  prayer  may  make. 

We  gird  us  bravely  to  rebuke 

Our  erring  brother  in  the  wrong  ; 

And  in  the  ear  of  Pride  and  Power 
Our  warning  voice  is  strong. 

Easier  to  smite  with  Peter's  sword 
Than  watch  one  hour  in  humbling  prayer: 

Life's  ww  great  thing-,''  like  the  Syrian  lord, 
Our  souls  can  do  and  dare. 


CYPRESS-TREE    OF    CEYLON.  65 

But  O  !  we  shrink  from  Jordan's  side — ■ 
From  waters  which  alone  can  save  ; 

And  murmur  for  Abana's  banks, 
And  Pharphar's  brighter  wave. 

O  !  Thou  who,  in  the  garden's  shade, 
Didst  wake  thy  weary  ones  again, 

Who  slumber'd  at  that  fearful  hour, 
Forgetful  of  Thy  pain  : 

Bend  o'er  us  now,  as  over  them, 

And  set  our  sleep-bound  spirits  free  ; 

Nor  leave  us  slumbering  in  the  watch 
Our  souls  should  keep  with  Thee ! 


66  HILL-SIDE    FLOWEES. 


My  home  is  in  yon  fleecy  cloud 

The  sun  is  gilding  bright ; 
But  you  will  seldom  find  me  there — 
I  am  the  Spirit  of  the  air ! 

Uncertain  is  my  flight. 

I  wander  through  each  verdant  bower, 

And  bear  the  perfume  on  ; 
I  cull  the  sweets  from  every  flower, 
And  pass  along  at  evening  hour, 

Welcome — and  lost  anon. 

I  swiftly  glide  along  the  deep, 

And  curl  the  slumb'ring  wave  ; 
I  fill  the  sail,  and  waft  along 
The  boatman's  peaceful  evening  song ; 
Then  sleep  in  Echo's  cave. 

But  when  my  harp  I  lightly  touch 

Such  magic  strains  I  pour. 
The  soul  that  listens  to  my  lay, 
Wrapp'd  in  bright  visions,  soars  away 

To  its  own  native  shore. 


TIIE     AIR-SPIRIT.  67 

Yet  think  not  that  I  always  play, 

Like  child  in  fairy  bow'r ; 
Though  soft  and  gentle  I  may  seem, 
And  nothing  worth  my  pow'r  you  deem — 

I  bide  my  coming  hour. 

"With  sudden  heat's  expansive  force, 

O'er  sea  and  land  I  rave — 
An  oak-tree  for  my  scepter  take ; 
Of  lofty  towers  my  crown  I  make ; 

My  suppliants,  the  brave. 

I  drive  my  car  with  vengeful  speed, 

Nor  fleet  nor  forest  spare ; 
And  India's  treasures  are  no  more 
Than  sands  upon  the  silver  shore 

Where  Fancy  braids  her  hair. 


,;s  HTLL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


FEOM  THE  GERMAN  OF  UHLAND. 

"  What  strange,  sweet  melody  is  this 
Which  rouses  me  from  sleep? 

O  mother,  see  what  may  it  be 
In  the  night-hour  still  and  deep  !" 

"  I  hear  no  sound — I  see  no  form — 
Slumber  and  rest  once  more. 

My  poor,  sick  child,  no  serenade 
Is  sung  before  thy  door." 

"They  are  not  earthly  tones  which  fill 
My  soul  with  such  delight ! 

Angels  are  calling  me  with  songs! 
Then,  mother  dear,  good-night !" 


THE     CHRISTIAN.  69 


Cjre  ftjrristian. 

Who  is  as  the  Christian  gTeat? 

Bought  and  wash'd  with  sacred  blood, 
Crowns  he  sees  beneath  his  feet, 

Soars  aloft  and  walks  with  God. 

"Who  is  as  the  Christian  wise  1 

He  his  naught  for  all  hath  given  ; 

Bought  the  pearl  of  greatest  price, 
Nobly  barter'd  earth  for  heaven. 

Who  is  as  the  Christian  bless'd  ? 

He  hath  found  the  long-sought  stone  ; 
He  is  join'd  to  Christ,  his  rest — 

He  and  happiness  are  one. 

Earth  and  heaven  together  meet, 
Gifts  in  him  and  graces  join  ; 

Make  the  character  complete, 
All  immortal,  all  divine. 

Lo !  his  clothing  is  the  sun — 

The  bright  Sun  of  righteousness ; 


70  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

He  hath  put  salvation  on — 
Jesus  is  his  beauteous  dress. 

Lo  !  he  feeds  on  living  bread, 
Drinks  the  fountain  from  above, 

Leans  on  Jesus'  breast  his  head, 
Feasts  forever  on  his  love. 

Angels  here  his  servants  are ; 

Spread  for  him  their  golden  wings  ; 
To  his  throne  of  glory  bear, 

Seat  him  by  the  King  of  kings. 

"Who  shall  gain  that  heavenly  height  ? 

"Who  his  Saviour's  face  shall  see  ? 
I  who  claim  it  in  his  right, 

Christ  hath  bought  it  all  for  me. 


hush!  71 


lilts  I 


"  I  can  scarcely  hear,"  she  murmured, 
"  For  my  heart  beats  loud  and  fast ; 
But  surely,  in  the  far,  far  distance 
I  can  hear  a  sound  at  last." 
"It  is  only  the  reapers  singing, 

As  they  carry  home  their  sheaves ; 
And  the  evening  breeze  has  risen, 
And  rustles  the  dying  leaves." 

"  Listen !  there  are  voices  talking !" 

Calmly  still  she  strove  to  speak ; 
Yet  her  voice  grew  faint  and  trembling, 
And  the  red  flush'd  in  her  cheek. 
"It  is  only  the  children  playing 

Below,  now  their  work  is  done, 
And  they  laugh  that  their  eyes  are  dazzled 
By  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun." 

Fainter  grew  her  voice,  and  weaker, 

As  with  anxious  eyes  she  cried, 
"  Down  the  avenue  of  chestnuts 

I  can  hear  a  horseman  ride." 


72  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

"  It  is  only  the  deer  that  were  feeding 
In  a  herd  on  the  clover-grass ; 

They  were  startled  and  fled  to  the  thicket, 
As  they  saw  the  reapers  pass." 

Now  the  night  arose  in  silence, 
Birds  lay  in  their  leafy  nest, 
And  the  deer  couch'd  in  the  forest, 
And  the  children  were  at  rest. 

There  was  only  a  sound  of  weeping 

From  watchers  around  a  bed. 
But  rest  to  the  weary  spirit! 
Peace  to  the  quiet  dead  ! 


THE     THREE     VOICES.  73 


%\z  Cljrcc  {birrs. 

What  saith  the  past  to  thee?     Weep! 

Truth  is  departed  : 
Beauty  hath  died  like  the  dream  of  a  sleep, 
Love  is  taint-hearted; 
Trifles  of  sense,  the  profoundly  unreal, 
Scare  from  our  spirits  God's  holy  ideal ; 
So,  as  a  funeral  bell,  slowly  and  deep, 
So  tolls  the  past  to  thee  !     Weep  ! 


How  speaks  the  present  hour?     Aet ! 

Walk  upward  glancing  : 

So  shall  thy  footsteps  in  glory  be  traced, 

Slow,  hut  advancing. 

Scorn  not  the  smallness  of  daily  endeavor, 

Let  the  great  meaning  ennoble  it  ever ; 

Droop  not  o'er  efforts  expended  in  vain; 

Work,  as  believing  that  labor  is  gain. 
4 


74:  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

What  doth  the  future  say  I     Hope  ! 

Turn  thy  face  sunward  ! 
Look  where  the  light  fringes  the  far  rising  slope, 
Day  cometh  onward. 
"Watch !  tho'  so  long  be  the  twilight  delaying, 
Let  the  first  sunbeam  arise  on  thee  praying ; 
Fear  not,  for  greater  is  God  by  thy  side 
Than  armies  of  Satan  against  thee  allied. 


MA     MIGNONNETTE.  75 


Mi\  HUponncttt 

Roses  are  called  queens ; 
Tulip,  a  lover  means  ; 
Lilies  white  praised  be, 
In  their  humility — 
But,  lowly  Mignonnette, 
What  is  the  price  that 's  set 
On  thee  % 

Gaily  the  garden  flowers 
Laugh  through  the  golden  hours 
Lifting  their  beauteous  heads 
Proudly  above  their  beds, 
Our  meek-eyed  Mignonnette, 
Unenvied,  still  will  let 

Them  bloom ! 

Giving,  with  lovely  grace, 
The  best  and  choicest  place 
To  flowers  more  rare ; 
Calmly  contented  where 
None  but  this  Mignonnette 
Ever  could  nurture  get 

To  grow. 


76  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

Loving  the  most  to  fall 
Close  by  some  mold'ring  wall, 
Breathing  out  fragrant  sighs, 
Greenest  where  ruin  lies, 
Like  love  that 's  unspoken  ; 
But  known  by  the  token, 
Tenderest  Mignonnette, 
Too  faithful  to  forget, 

Teach  us ! 

Modest  in  quiet  bloom, 
Asking  a  little  room, 
Sure  to  be  always  found 
Sweetest  on  poorest  ground, 
Cheering  a  lonely  spot, 
Pitying  the  desolate : 
Such  is  our  Mignonnette — 
Love  is  the  price  we  set 
On  thee ! 


, 


"ftfifi 


^ 


■  nil 


^%£%k:: 


•♦  ^ 


VENICE.  79 


tzixizz. 

Night  on  the  Adriatic  !     Night ! 

And  like  a  mirage  of  the  plain, 
With  all  her  marvelous  domes  of  light, 

Pale  Venice  looms  along  the  main. 

No  sound  from  the  receding  shore, — 
No  sound  from  all  the  broad  lagoon, 

Save  where  the  light  and  springing  oar 
Brightens  our  track  beneath  the  moon 

Or  save  when  yon  higli  campanile 
Gives  to  the  list'ning  sea  its  chime, 

Or  when  those  dusky  giants  wheel 
And  smite  the  ringing  helm  of  Time. 


The  domes  suspended  in  the  sky 
Swim  all  above  me  broad  and  fair ; 

And  in  the  wave  their  shadows  lie, — ■ 
Twin  phantoms  of  the  sea  and  air. 


80  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 

( )'or  all  the  scene  a  halo  plays, 
Slow  fading,  but  how  lovely  yet; 

For  here  the  brightness  of  past  days 
Still  lingers  though  the  sun  is  set. 

Oft  in  my  bright  and  boyish  hours 
I  lived  in  dreams  what  now  I  live  ; 

And  saw  these  palaces  and  towers 
In  all  the  light  Romance  can  give. 

They  rose  along  my  native  stream, 
They  charm'd  the  lakelet  in  the  glen  ; 

But  in  this  hour  the  waking  dream 

More  frail  and  dreamlike  seems  than  then. 

A  matchless  scene,  a  matchless  night. 

A  tide  below,  a  moon  above  ; 
An  hour  for  music  and  delight, 

For  gliding  gondolas  and  love  ! 

But  here,  alas!  you  hark  in  vain, — ■ 
"When  Venice  fell  her  music  died; 

And,  voiceless  as  a  funeral  train. 
The  blacken'd  barges  swim  the  tide. 

The  harp  which  Tasso  loved  to  wake 
Hangs  on  the  willow  where  it  sleeps; 

Ami  while  the  light  strings  sigh  or  break. 
Pale  Venice  by  the  water  weep-. 


FROM    GOLD    TO    GRAY.  81 


Jfrom  (Soli  to  (JSrajh 

Golden  curls,  profusely  shed 
O'er  the  lovely  childish  head, — 
Sunshine,  caught  from  summer  skies, 
Surely  here  entangled  lies  : 
Tossing  to  the  light  winds  free, 
Radiant  clusters,  what  are  ye  ? 

Types  of  Time,  that  ripples  now 
In  bright  wavelets  o'er  the  brow, — 
Of  the  hopes  and  feelings  blest, 
Dancing  in  the  guileless  breast, 
Beautiful  in  their  unrest : 
Sparkling  joys  and  willing  faith 
Rising  to  Love's  lightest  breath  ; 
Of  the  future  seeming  fair, 
That  may  darken  with  the  hair. 

What  are  ye,  dark  waving  bands, 

That  beneath  the  maiden's  hands 

Sweep  around  her  graceful  head  ? 

Fold  o'er  fold  of  changeful  shade 
4*" 


82  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 

Touch  the  cheek's  contrasted  bloom 
With  the  poetry  of  gloom. 

Offerings  for  a  lover's  eye, 
Emblems  of  Love's  witchery, 
Round  her  heart  that  richly  lies, — ■ 
Shadows,  while  it  beautifies  ; 
Keepsakes  Love  delights  to  give, 
Did  each  friend  one  tress  receive, 
Every  shining  tress  were  lost, 
For  the  maiden  hath  a  host. 
Ay !  but  trouble,  stories  say, 
Locks  as  rich  hath  worn  away. 
What  of  this  ?    But  friends  grow  spare 
As  the  scant  and  falling  hair ! 

Wherefore  send  your  pallid  ray, 
Streaks  of  cold,  untimely  gray, 
Through  the  locks  whose  burnishM  hue 
1  lath  but  seen  of  years  a  few  ? 
Autumn  leaves  on  summer  trees 
Were  less  sorrowful  than  these. 

Portions  of  life's  travel-soil ; 
Footprints  left  by  Grief  and  Toil ; 
Relics,  too,  of  watchings  late, 
When  <»n<'  curl  was  too  much  weight 


FROM     GOLD    TO    GRAY.  83 

On  the  hot  brows,  bending  o'er 
Some  grave  book  of  ancient  lore. 
'T  is  the  mourning  Nature  wears 
For  the  hopes  of  younger  years  ; 
And  the  scorching  breath  of  care 
Thus  can  fade  the  brightest  hair. 


Hail  to  thee,  thou  glistening  snow  ! 
Full  of  placid  beauty,  flow 
O'er  the  furrowed  brows  that  bear 
Life's  long  story,  written  fair. 
'Tis  the  white  foam,  cast  aside 
After  Time's  receding  tide. 

Yea,  and  pleasant  types  are  ye 
Of  each  moonlight  memory  ; 
Shining  from  his  far-off  prime 
To  the  old  man's  evening  time. 
More — ye  are  reflections  shed 
From  the  heaven  above  his  head  ; 
Pale,  but  still  assuring  ray, 
Of  his  nearly  risen  day. 
Mortal !  may  thy  hoary  hair 
E'en  such  glorious  meaning  bear, 
That  its  silver  threads  may  be 
Messengers  of  light  to  thee  ! 


84  II  ILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 


C|f  fittlf  |«2  that  fliri). 

I  am  all  alone  in  my  chamber  now, 

And  the  midnight  hour  is  near ; 
And  the  faggot's  crack  and  the  clock's  dull  tick 

Are  the  only  sounds  I  hear. 
And  over  my  soul  in  its  solitude 

Sweet  feelings  of  gladness  glide, 
For  my  heart  and  eyes  are  full  when  1  think 

Of  the  little  hoy  that  died  ! 

I  went  one  night  to  my  father's  home — 

Went  home  to  the  dear  ones  all ; 
And  I  softly  opened  the  garden  gate, 

And  softly  the  door  of  the  hall. 
My  mother  came  out  to  meet  her  son — 

She  kiss'd  me  and  then  she  sigh'd; 
And  her  head  fell  on  my  neck,  and  she  wept 

For  the  little  hoy  that  died. 

1  shall  miss  him  when  the  flowers  come 

In  the  garden  where  lie  play'd  ; 
I  shall  miss  him  more  by  the  fireside, 

When  the  flowers  have  all  decay'd. 


I  Mi:     LITTLE     H<»Y     THAT     DIED.  85 

I  shall  see  his  toys,  and  his  empty  chair, 

And  the  horse  he  used  to  ride  ; 
And  they  all  shall  speak,  with  a  silent  speech, 

Of  the  little  hoy  that  died. 

We  shall  go  home  to  our  Father's  house, 

To  our  Father's  house  in  the  skies, 
Where  the  hope  of  our  soul  shall  know  no  blight, 

Our  love  no  broken  ties. 
We  shall  roam  on  the  banks  of  the  River  of  Life, 

And  drink  of  its  crystal  tide  ; 
And  one  of  the  joys  of  our  heaven  shall  be 

The  little  boy  that  died  ! 


s,i  HILL-SIDE     FLOWEEB. 


%\i  JHlune   pilgrim. 

Birds  have  tlieir  quiet  nest, 
Foxes  tlieir  holes,  and  man  his  peaceful  bed  ; 

All  creatures  have  their  rest, — 
But  Jesus  had  not  where  to  lay  his  head. 

Winds  have  their  hour  of  calm, 
And  waves,  to  slumber  on  the  voiceless  deep  ; 

Eve  hath  its  breath  of  balm, 
To  hush  all  senses  and  all  sounds  to  sleep. 

The  wild  deer  hath  its  lair, 
The  homeward  flocks  the  shelter  of  tlieir  shed ; 

All  have  their  rest  from  care, — 
But  Jesus  had  not  where  to  lay  his  head. 

And  yet  he  came  to  give 
The  weary  and  the  heavy-laden  rest; 

To  bid  the  sinner  live, 
And  soothe  our  griefs  to  slumber  on  his  breast. 

Why  then  am  I.  my  God, 
Permitted  thus  the  paths  of  peace  to  tread  ? 

Peace,  purchased  by  the  blood 
Of  Him  who  had  not  where  to  lay  his  head! 


THE     DIVINE     PILGRIM.  87 

I,  who  once  made  Him  grieve; 
I,  who  once  bid  His  gentle  spirit  mourn  ; 

Whose  hand  essay  "d  to  weave 
For  His  meek  brow  the  cruel  crown  of  thorn  : — 

O  why  should  I  have  peace  ? 
Why  ?  but  for  that  unchanged,  undying  love, 

Which  would  not,  could  not  cease, 
Until  it  made  me  heir  of  joys  above. 

Yes  !  but  for  pardoning  grace, 
I  feel  I  never  should  in  glory  see 

The  brightness  of  that  face 
That  once  was  pale  and  agonized  for  me ! 

Let  the  birds  seek  their  nest, 
Foxes  their  holes,  and  man  his  peaceful  bed  ; 

Come,  Saviour,  in  my  breast 
Deign  to  repose  Thine  oft  rejected  head. 

(  "me,  give  me  rest,  and  take 
The  only  rest  on  earth  thou  lovest, — within 

A  heart,  that  for  thy  sake 
Lies  bleeding,  broken,  penitent  for  sin. 


HILL-SIDE    FLOWEKS. 


€\t  |Uto  $*ntsalenu 

We  are  on  our  journey  home, 
Where  Christ,  our  Lord,  is  gone; 

We  will  meet  around  his  throne 
When  he  makes  his  people  one 
In  the  New  Jerusalem ! 

We  see  our  distant  home  ; 

Though  clouds  rise  oft  between  ; 
Faith  views  the  radiant  dome, 

And  a  lustre  flashes  keen 
From  the  New  Jerusalem  ! 

O  !  glory  shining  far 

From  the  never-setting  sun ! 
O  trembling  morning  star! 

Our  journey 's  almost  done 
To  the  New  Jerusalem  ! 

Our  hearts  are  breaking  now 
Those  mansions  fair  to  see, 

O  Lord,  the  heavens  bow, 
And  raise  us  up  to  thee, 
To  the  New  Jerusalem! 


W     o 

t>     <1 
H 

W    5 


.TUDEA.  91 


fttfaa. 


Blest  land  of  Judea  !  thrice  hallowed  of  song, 
Where    the    holiest   of  memories   pilgrim-like 

throng ; 
In  the  shade  of  thy  palms,  by  the  shores  of  thy  sea. 
On  the  hills  of  thy  beauty,  my  heart  is  with  thee  ! 

With  the  eye  of  a  spirit  I  look  on  that  shore 
Where  the  pilgrim  and  prophet  have  linger'd 

before ; 
With  the  glide  of  a  spirit  I  traverse  the  sod, 
Made  bright  by  the  steps  of  the  angels  of  God. 

Blue  hills  of  the  sea  !  in  my  spirit  I  hear 
Thy  waters,  Gennesaret,  chime  on  my  ear ; 
Where  the  Lowly  and  Just  with  the  people  sat 

down, 
And  thy  spray  on  the  dust  of  His  sandals  was 

thrown. 

Beyond  are  Bethulia's  mountains  of  green, 
And  the  desolate  hills  of  the  wild  Gadarene ; 
And  I  pause  on  the  goat-crags  of  Tabor  to  see 
The  gleam  of  thy  waters,  O  dark  Galilee  ! 


92  HILL-SIDE    FLOWEKS. 

Hark  !  a  sound  in  the  valleys,  where,  swollen 

and  strong, 
Thy  river,  O  Ivishon,  is  sweeping  along ; 
Where  the  Canaanite  strove  with  Jehovah  in 

vain, 
And  thy  torrent  grew  dark  with  the  blood  of  the 

slain ! 

There,  down  from  his  mountains,  stern  Zebulon 

came, 
And  Naphtali's  stag,  with  his  eye-balls  of  flame  ; 
And  the  chariots  of  Jabin  roll'd  harmlessly  on, 
Near  the  arm  of  the  Lord  was  Abinoam's  son  ! 

There  sleep  the  still  rocks  and  the  caverns  which 

rang 
To  the  song  which  the  beautiful  prophetess  sang, 
When  the  Princess  of  Issacher  stood  by  her  side, 
And  the  shout  of  a  host  in  its  triumph  replied. 

Lo  !  Bethlehem's  hill-site  before  me  is  seen, 
With  the  mountains  around,  and   the  valleys 

between ; 
There  rested  the  shepherds  of  Judah,  and  there 
The  song  of  the  angel  rose  sweet  on  the  air. 

And  Bethany's  palm-trees  in  beauty  still  throw 
Their  shadows  at  noon  on  the  ruins  below: 


JUDEA. 


93 


But  where  are  the  sisters  who  hasten'd  to  greet 
The  lowly  Redeemer,  and  sit  at  his  feet  ? 

I  tread  where  the  twelve  in  their  way-faring 
trod ; 

I  stand  where  they  stood  with  the  Chosen  of  God  ; 

Where  His  blessing  was  heard,  and  His  lessons 
were  tanght ; 

"Where  the  blind  was  restored,  and  the  healing- 
was  wrought. 

O  !  here  with  his  flock  the  sad  Wanderer  came ; 
These  hills  He  toil'd  over  in  grief  are  the  same. 
The  founts  where  He  drank  by  the  way-side  still 

flow, 
And  the  same  airs  are  blowing  which  breathed 

on  His  brow. 

And  throned  on  her  hills  sits  Jerusalem  yet, 
But  with  dust  on  her  forehead  and  chains  on  her 

feet ; 
For  the  crown  of  her  pride  to  the  mocker  hath 

gone, 
And  the  holy  Shekinah  is  dark  where  it  shone ! 

But  wherefore  this  dream  of  the  earthly  abode 
Of  humanity  clothed  in  the  brightness  of  God ! 


94  J I  [LL-SIDE     FLOW  I.  BS. 

Where  my  spirit  has  turn'd  from  the  outward 

and  dim, 
It  could  gaze,  even  now,  on  the  presence  of  Him  ! 

Not  in  clouds  and  in  terrors,  but  gentle  as  when 
In  love  and  in  meekness  He  moved  among  men ; 
And   the  voice  which   breathed   peace  to  the 

waves  of  the  sea, 
In  the  hush  of  my  spirit  would  whisper  to  me. 

And  what  if  my  feet  may  not  tread  where  He 

stood, 
Nor  my  ears  hear  the  dashing  of  Galilee's  flood, 
Nor  my  eyes  see  the  cross  which  He  bowed  him 

to  bear, 
Nor  my  knees  press  Gethsemane's  garden  of 

prayer — 

Yet,  loved  of  the  Father,  Thy  Spirit  is  near 
To  the  meek  and  the  lowly,  and  the  penitent  here ; 
And  the  voice  of  Thy  love  is  the  same  even  now, 
As  at  Bethany's  tomb,  or  on  Olivet's  brow. 

O!  the  outward  hath   gone — but  in  glory  and 

power, 
The  Spirit  survived  the  things  of  an  hour; 
Unchang'd,  undecaying,  its  Pentecost  flame 
On  the  heart's  secret  altar  is  burning  the  same. 


F  U  T  U  K  1 T  V  .  95 


JfttturitiL 


And  O,  beloved  voices,  upon  which 

Ours  passionately  call,  because  ere  long 

Ye  brake  off  in  the  middle  of  that  song 

"We  sang  together  softly,  to  enrich 

The  poor  world  with  the  sense  of  love,  and  witch 

The  heart  out  of  things  evil, — I  am  strong, — 

Knowing  ye  are  not  lost  for  aye  among 

The  hills  with  last  year's  thrush.      God  keeps  a 

niche 
In  heaven  to  hold  our  idols  !  and  albeit 
He  brake  them  to  our  faces,  and  denied 
That  our  close  kisses  should  impair  their  white, — 
I  know  we  shall  behold  them  raised,  complete, — 
The  dust  shook  from  their  beauty, — glorified 
Kew  Memnons  singing  in  the  great  God-light. 


96  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


%\i   Anjcl  of  iiatj. 

O  glorious  world!  thou  art  deck'd  in  pride, 
And  crown'd  with  joy  like  a  mortal  bride  ; 
The  robe  of  majesty  thou  dost  wear 
Glows  with  the  hues  of  the  changing  year. 
Strange  beauty  dwells  on  forest  and  plain, 
On  snow-capp'd  mountain  and  swelling  main, 
On  rose-hued  glacier  and  rocky  isle, 
And  vale,  where  the  waving  harvests  smile. 
Bright  warblers  dwell  in  thy  perfumed  groves, 
The  snowy  sail  o'er  the  blue  lake  mores  ; 
And  marble  column  and  gilded  spire 
Gleam  on  the  plain  in  the  sun's  red  fire. 
The  spell  of  unmingled  beauty  is  thine, 

0  glorious  world  !  yet  I  call  thee  mine. 

By  the  lightning's  flash,  by  the  tempest's  gloom, 
By  the  whirlwind's  rush  I  blast  thy  bloom. 

1  bow  the  pride  of  all  living  things, 

I  shadow  them  all  with  my  brooding  wings ; 
They  fade,  they  droop  at  my  withering  breath, 
Mighty  I  am,  and  my  name  is  Death ! 


THE     ANGEL    OF     DEATH.  97 

0  man,  thou  hast  furrow'd  the  ocean  wave, 
Hast  wrested  the  gold  from  the  earth's  dull  cave, 
And  lit  thy  steps  by  its  glittering  ra}r — 

Thou  hast  track'd  the  stars  in  their  pathless  way — 
Hast  called  from  the  mountain's  marble  breast 
Bright  gems,  like  the  visions  which  haunt  thy  rest. 
A  sacred  fire  to  thy  lips  is  given — 
Thou  hast  breathed  in  song  thy  dream  of  Heaven. 
The  spell  of  the  unchain'd  thought  is  thine, 
And  the  mighty  will,  yet  I  call  thee  mine. 
In  festive  hour,  from  the  social  throng 

1  banish  the  smile,  and  hush  the  song ! 

Sad  hearts,  lone  homes,  mark  my  way  of  wrath, 
And  tears  of  men  are  the  dew  of  my  path ! 

When  armies  come  forth  in  their  martial  might 
To  battle  for  glory,  and  honor,  and  right ; 
When  the  trumpet  sounds,  and  the  clashing  steel 

rings, 
I  sweep  o'er  the  field : — my  waving  wTings 
Stir  the  quivering  banner  and  pendant  plume, 
And  I  mark  mine  own  and  speak  their  doom. 

At  calm  of  night,  when  the  moon  looks  down 
Serene  and  pale  o'er  the  slumbering  town, 
When  music  and  voices,  and  sounds  of  day, 
Have  pass'd  from  the  silent  halls  away  ; 


98  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 

When  the  streets  re-echo  no  passer's  tread  ; 
When  flit  round  the  tranquil  sleeper's  head 
The  shadowy  circle  of  golden  dreams, 
And  hush'd  in  repose  all  being  seems — 
Lo !  a  shriek  of  fear  and  a  sound  of  strife, 
And  the  struggling  groan  of  the  parting  life 
Break  shrill  and  dread  on  the  midnight  air, 
Mingled  with  wailing  and  tones  of  prayer, 
The  watcher  pillows  the  dying  head, 
The  mourner  bends  o'er  the  cold,  still  dead — 
O  starry  night !  thou  art  bright  and  fair, 
But  my  solemn  presence  too  is  there ! 

Yet  call  me  not  stern,  although  my  sway 
Bid  peasant  and  monarch  pass  away  ; 
The  strong-arm'd  youth,  the  maid  in  her  bloom, 
O  children  of  earth,  I  call  ye  home ! 
Are  ye  happy  here?     Would  ye  remain, 
Sullied  by  sin  % — bound  by  the  chain 
Of  strong  affection  which  grasps  the  soul 
And  bows  it  to  earth  in  its  fierce  control  ? 
In  your  yearning  fondness,  ye  have  made 
Gods  of  the  things  which  alter  and  fade. 
Bright  hopes  are  nursed  in  the  trusting  breast 
Like  the  unfiedg'd  brood  of  the  wild  bird's  nest; 
They  found  their  wings, — one  by  one  have  gone, 
Their  home  is  desolate,  left  and  lone. 


THE     ANGEL     OF     DEATH.  99 

Ye  mark  the  flight  of  your  passing  years 
By  the  whiten'd  locks  and  the  trace  of  tears. 
I  set  you  free  from  the  binding  chain, 
I  wash  you  pure  from  the  guilty  stain. 
Th'  undying  soul,  the  spark  of  heaven, 
The  holy  light  to  your  weak  frames  given, 
Fears  not  my  power — I  bid  it  rise, 
Perfect  and  pure,  to  the  happy  skies. 
Children  of  sorrow !     I  make  you  bless'd — ■ 
I  call  you  home  to  a  glorious  rest ! 


100  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


%\i    iiuttrrfln. 

FROM    THE   FP.KNCH   OF    DE   LAMAETINB. 

Born  with  the  spring-time,  with  the  roses  dying, 

Wafted  on  the  Zephyr's  wing  to  the  skies  so 

bright ; 

( )n  the  newly- open' d  bosom  of  the  flowers  lying, 

Richly  steep'd  in  perfume,  in  azure,  and  in 

light, 

Shaking  <>H'  the  golden  dust  to  its  pinions  given, 

Floating  like  the  summer's  breath  to  the  vaults 

of  heaven — 
This  is  the  Butterfly's  destiny  so  fair  ! 

Resembling  desire,  that  with  unresting  wing, 
Ever  unsatisfied,  glancing  on  everything, 
Returns  at  last  to  Heaven  to  seek  for  pleasure 
there. 


'are   we    almost    these?"         101 


"Arc  hue  almost  €\txt1" 

"Are  we  almost  there — are  we  almost  there  2" 
Said  a  dying  girl  as  she  drew  near  home — 

"Are  those  our  poplar-trees  which  rear 

Their   forms   so   high  'gainst   heaven's   hlue 
dome  ? " 

Then  she  talk'd  of  her  flowers,  and  thought  of 
the  well, 
Where  the  cool  water  splash'd  o'er  the  large 
white  stone, 
And  she  said  it  would  soothe  like  a  fairy  spell, 
Could  she  drink  from  that  fount  when  the  fever 
was  on. 

While  yet  so  young,  and  her  bloom  grew  less, 
They  had  borne  her  away  to  a  kindlier  clime  ; 

For  she  would  not  tell  that  't  was  only  distress 
Which  had  gather'd  Life's  rose  in  its  sweet 
spring-time. 

And  she  had  look'd,  when  they  bade  her  look, 
At  many  a  ruin  and  many  a  shrine — 


102  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 

At  the  sculptured  niche,  and  the  pictured  nook ; 
And  mark'd  from  high  places  the  sun's  decline. 

But  in  secret  she  sigh'd  for  a  quiet  spot, 

Where  oft  she  had  play'd  in  childhood's  hour; 

Though  shrub  or  floweret  mark'd  it  not, 
Twas  dearer  to  her  than  the  gayest  bower. 

And  oft  did  she  ask,  "Are  we  almost  there  ? " 
But  her  voice  grew  faint,  and  her  fiush'd  cheek 
pale; 

And  they  strove  to  soothe  her  with  useless  care, 
As  her  sighs  would  escape  on  the  evening  gale. 

Then  swiftly,  more  swiftly,  they  hurried  her  on  ; 

But  anxious  hearts  felt  the  chill  of  despair  ; 
For  when  the  light  of  that  eye  was  gone, 

And  the  quick  pulse  stopp'd,  she  was  almost 
there ! 


/ 


IN     THIS     DIM     WOKLD.  103 


|u  tjjis  Dim  SSUrlir, 

In  this  dim  world  of  clouding  cares, 
"We  rarely  know  till  wilder' d  eyes 
See  white  wings  lessening  up  the  skies, 

The  angels  with  us  unawares. 

And  thou  hast  stolen  a  jewel,  Death  ! 

Shall  light  thy  dark  up  like  a  star, 

A  beacon  kindling  from  afar 
Our  light  of  love  and  fainting  faith. 

Through  tears  it  gleams  perpetually, 

And  glitters  through  the  thickest  glooms, 
Till  the  eternal  morning  comes 

To  light  us  o'er  the  jasper  sea. 

With  our  best  branch  in  tenderest  leaf, 

We  've  strewn  the  way  our  Lord  doth  come ; 
And  ready  for  the  harvest  home, 

The  reapers  bind  our  ripest  sheaf. 

Our  beautiful  bird  of  light  hath  fled ; 

Awhile  she  sat  with  folded  wings, 

Sung  round  us  a  few  hoverings, 
Then  straightway  into  glory  sped. 


104  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 

Ami  white-winged  angels  nurture  her. 

With  heaven's  white  radiance  robed  and 

crown  M. 
And  all  love's  purple  glory  round, 
She  summers  on  the  hills  of  myrrh. 


Through  childhood's  morning  land  serene 
She  walk'd  between  us  twain  like  love  ; 
While  in  a  robe  of  light  above 

The  better  angel  walk'd  unseen. 


Till  Life's  highway  broke  bleak  and  wild, 
Then,  lest  her  starry  garments  trail 
In  mire,  heart  bleed  and  courage  fail, 

The  angel's  arms  caught  up  the  child. 

The  wave  of  Life  hath  backward  roll'd 
To  the  great  ocean,  on  whose  shore 
We  wander  up  and  down  to  store 

Some  treasures  of  the  times  of  old. 

And  still  we  seek,  and  hunger  on 
For  precious  pearls  and  relics  rare, 
Strewn  on  the  sands  for  us  to  wear, 

At  heart,  for  love  of  her  that's  gone. 


IN     THIS     DIM     WORLD.  105 

O  weep  no  more !  there  yet  is  balm 
In  Gilead !  Love  doth  ever  shed 
Rich  healing  where  it  nestles — spread 

On  desert  pillows  some  green  palm ! 

Strange  glory  streams  through  Life's  wild  rents, 
And  through  the  open  door  of  Death 
We  see  the  heaven  that  beckoneth 

To  the  beloved  going  hence. 

God's  ichor  fills  the  heart  that  bleeds  ; 
The  best  fruit  loads  the  broken  bough, 
And  in  the  wounds  our  sufferings  plow; 

Immortal  love  sows  sovereign  seed. 
5* 


106  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


Jfititeral   Upttt, 

SUNG  IN  THE  BLACK  FOEE8T. 

Neighbor,  accept  our  parting  song  ; 

The  road  is  short,  the  rest  is  long : 

The  Lord  brought  here,  the  Lord  takes  hence,- 

This  is  no  house  of  permanence. 

On  bread  of  mirth  and  bread  of  tears 
The  pilgrim  fed  these  chequered  years ; 
Now  landlord  world,  shut  to  the  door, 
Thy  guest  is  gone  for  evermore — 

Gone  to  a  realm  of  sweet  repose, 
His  comrades  bless  him  as  he  goes : 
Of  toil  and  moil  the  day  was  full, 
A  good  sleep  now, — the  night  is  cool. 

Ye  village  bells,  ring,  softly  ring, 
And  in  the  blessed  Sabbath  bring, 
Which  from  this  weary  vrork-day  tryst 
Awaits  God's  folk  through  Jesus  Christ. 


FUNERAL     HYMN.  107 

And  open  wide,  thou  Gate  of  Peace, 
And  let  this  other  journey  cease  ; 
Nor  grudge  a  narrow  couch,  dear  neighbors, 
For  slumbers  won  by  life-long  labors. 

Beneath  these  sods  how  close  ye  lie ! 
But  many  a  mansion 's  in  yon  sky. 
E'en  now,  beneath  the  sapphire  throne 
Is  his  prepared  through  God's  dear  Son. 

"I  quickly  come  !"  that  Saviour  cries; 
Yea,  quickly  come,  this  church-yard  sighs. 
Come,  Jesus,  come  !  we  wait  for  thee, — 
Thine  now  and  ever  let  us  be. 


108  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 


f   §iic|lf-.^onc|. 


The  splendor  falls  on  castle  walls, 

And  snowy  summits  old  in  story  : 
The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes, 
And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory  : 
Blow,  bugle,  blow ! — set  the  wild  echoes  flying ! 
Blow, bugle!  answer  echoes,  dying, dying, dying! 

O  hark !  O  hear  !  how  thin  and  clear, 
And  thinner,  clearer,  farther  going  ! 
O  sweet  and  far,  from  cliff  and  scar, 
The  horns  of  Elfland  faintly  blowing  ! 
Blow  !  let  us  hear  the  purple  glens  replying, 
1  Slow,  bugle !  answer  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying ! 

O  love,  they  die  in  yon  rich  sky, 

They  faint  on  hill,  on  field,  on  river  : 
Our  echoes  roll  from  soul  to  soul, 
And  grow  forever  and  forever. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow!  set  the  wild  echoes  riving. 
And    answer,    echoes    answer,     dying,     dying, 
dying ! 


• 


'The  splen  lor  fa  ias1  ills." 


ENIGMAS.  Ill 


(Enigmas. 

FROM  THE   GERMAN  OF  SCHILLER. 

A  bridge  weaves  its  own  arch  with  pearls 
High  o'er  a  tranquil  dark  gray  sea ; 

And  in  a  moment  it  unfurls 
Its  dizzy  span  unbounded,  free. 

The  tallest  barks,  with  swelling  sail, 
May  pass  beneath  its  arch  with  ease  ; 

It  bears  no  burden,  't  is  too  frail, 

And  when  thou  wouldst  approach  it  flees. 

"With  floods  it  came,  and  disappears 
Whene'er  the  water's  course  is  seal'd. 

Say  where  its  lofty  arch  it  rears, 
And  by  what  architect  reveal'd? 


Know'st  thou  the  picture  soft  of  hue  ? 

Itself  the  fountain  of  its  light. 
Each  moment  changing  to  the  view, 

Yet  ever  perfect,  fresh,  and  bright. 


112  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 

T  is  painted  in  the  smallest  space, 
Within  the  smallest  frame  enclosed ; 

But  of  earth's  greatness  not  a  trace 
Without  it  e'er  had  heen  disclosed. 

Canst  thou  to  me  the  crystal  name  ? 

No  jewel  equals  it  in  worth  ; 
It  flashes,  hut  without  a  flame, 

Drinks  in  the  houndless  spheres  of  earth. 
E'en  Heaven's  self  in  radiance  plays 

Within  its  magic  circle  bright ; 
Yet  though  it  drinks  celestial  rays, 

More  lovely  for  is  its  own  light. 


INVOCATION.  113 


fittooratian. 


O  God,  thou  bottomless  abyss! 

Thee  to  perfection  who  can  know  ? 
O  height  immense  !  what  words  suffice 

Thy  countless  attributes  to  show? 
Unfathomable  depths  thou  art ! 

O  plunge  me  in  thy  mercy's  sea  ! 
Yoid  of  true  wisdom  is  my  heart ; 

"With  love  embrace  and  cover  me ! 
"While  thee,  all  infinite  I  set 

By  faith,  before  my  ravish'd  eye  ; 
My  weakness  bends  beneath  the  weight ; 

O'erpower'd  I  sink,  I  faint,  I  die. 

Eternity  Thy  fountain  was, 

"Which,  like  Thee,  no  beginning  knew  ; 
Thou  wast  ere  Time  began  its  race, 

Ere  glowed  with  stars  th'  ethereal  blue. 
Greatness  unspeakable  is  Thine  ; 

Greatness,  whose  undiminish'd  ray, 
"When  short-lived  worlds  are  lost,  shall  shine  ; 

"When  earth  and  heaven  are  fled  away. 


114  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

Unchangeable,  all-perfect  Lord, 
Essential  life's  unbounded  sea  ; 

What  lives  and  moves,  lives  by  thy  word; 
It  lives,  and  moves,  and  is  from  thee ! 

Thy  parent  hand,  Thy  forming  skill, 

Firm  fix'd  this  universal  chain  ; 
Else  empty,  barren  darkness  still 

Had  held  his  unmolested  reign. 
"VVhate'er  in  earth,  or  sea,  or  sky, 

Or  shuns,  or  meets  the  wand'ring  thought, 
Escapes  or  strikes  the  searching  eye 

By  Thee  was  to  perfection  brought ! 
High  is  Thy  power  above  all  height 

Whate'er  Thy  will  decrees  is  done; 
Thy  wisdom,  equal  to  Thy  might. 

Only  to  thee,  O  God,  is  known  ! 

Heaven's  glory  is  Thy  awful  throne, 

Yet  earth  partakes  Thy  gracious  sway  ; 
Vain  man  !  thy  wisdom  folly  own. 

Lost  is  thy  reason's  feeble  ray. 
What  our  dim  eye  could  never  see 

Is  plain  and  naked  to  Thy  sight ; 
"What  thickest  darkness  vails,  to  Thee 

Shines  clearly  as  the  morning  light. 
In  light  Thou  dwell'st ;  light  that  no  shade, 

No  variation,  ever  knew. 


INVOCATION.  115 

Heaven,  Earth,  and  Hell  stand  all  display VI, 
And  open  to  Thy  piercing  view. 

Thou,  true  and  only  God,  lead'st  forth 

Tli'  immortal  armies  of  the  sky  : 
Thou  laugh'st  to  scorn  the  gods  of  earth  ; 

Thou  thund'rest,  and  amazed  they  fly  ! 
With  downcast  eye  the  angelic  choir 

Appear  before  thy  awful  face  ; 
Trembling,  they  strike  the  golden  lyre, 

And   through  heaven's  vault  resound  thy 
praise. 
In  earth,  in  heaven,  in  all  thou  art : 

The  conscious  creature  feels  thy  nod; 
Thy  forming  hand  on  every  part 

Impress'd  the  image  of  its  God. 

Thine,  Lord,  is  wisdom,  thine  alone! 

Justice  and  Truth  before  thee  stand  ; 
Tet  nearer  to  thy  sacred  throne 

Mercy  withholds  thy  lifted  hand. 
Each  evening  shows  thy  tender  love, 

Each  rising  mom  thy  plenteous  grace ; 
Thy  waken'd  wrath  does  slowly  move, 

Thy  willing  mercy  flies  apace ! 
To  thy  benign  indulgent  care, 

Father,  this  light,  this  breath  we  owe  ; 


116  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 

And  all  we  have,  and  all  we  are, 

From  thee,  Great  Source  of  Being,  flow. 

Parent  of  good  !   Thy  bounteous  hand 

Incessant  blessings  now  distills ; 
And  all  in  air,  or  sea,  or  land 

With  plenteous  food  and  gladness  tills. 
All  things  in  Thee  live,  move,  and  are ; 

Thy  power  infused  doth  all  sustain  ; 
Even  those  Thy  daily  favors  share 

Who  thankless  spurn  Thy  easy  reign. 
Thy  sun,  thou  bidst  his  genial  ray 

Alike  on  all  impartial  pour  ; 
On  all  who  hate  or  bless  Thy  sway, 

Thou  bidst  descend  the  fruitful  shower. 

Tet,  while  at  Length,  who  scorn'd  Thy  might, 

Shall  feel  thee  a  consuming  fire  ; 
How  sweet  the  joys,  the  crown  how  bright, 

Of  those  who  to  Thy  love  aspire  ! 
All  creatures  praise  the  Eternal  Name ! 

Ye  hosts  that  to  his  court  belong, 
Cherubic  choirs,  seraphic  flame, 

A  wake  the  everlasting  song  ! 
Thrice  holy!  thine  the  kingdom  is, 

The  power  omnipotent  is  thine  ; 
And  when  created  nature  dies, 

Thy  never-ceasing  glories  shine. 


NOT     LOST     ART     THOU     TO     ME.  117 


llat  *$nt  art  Ctjou  to  ||U. 

Not  lost  art  thou  to  me  ; 

Thou,  the  departed ! 
A  presence  still  of  thee 

Dwelleth  instead. 
I  turn,  and  thou  art  not — 

Yet  know  thee  near ; 
There  is  that  can  part  not — 

Absent,  yet  here. 


The  blind  there  is,  heareth  ; 

The  deaf,  yet  hath  sight ; 
Day  to  one  sense  appeareth  ; 

To  one  is  night ; 
And  a  sense  in  my  spirit 

Liveth  to  thee  ! — 
None  other  hath  merit, — 

Pleasure  for  me. 


118  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

Often,  thou  precious  one, 

Is  thy  shade  near ; 
Oft,  as  I  sit  alone, 

Doth  it  appear: 
]Sot  in  voice,  not  in  form, 

Gesture  or  air  ; — 
But  the  life  of  thy  being, 

Thy  presence,  is  there. 


"When  riseth  the  full  soul 

In  anguish  on  high, 
Thou  dost  its  grief  control ; 

Thou  then  art  nigh. 
In  hope,  thou  art  o'er  me  ! 

And  sunset  doth  bring, 
'Mid  hues  I've  watch'd  with  thee, 

A  violet  wing. 


In  music  descending, 

Thou  comest  to  me ; 
Joys  past  with  thee  blending, 

Ah !  mournfully. 
Let  morning's  glad  brightness, 

The  fountain,  the  tree, 
Clouds  passing  in  lightness, — 

All  tell  of  thee! 


NOT     LOST     ART     THOU     TO     ME.  119 

Not  lost  art  tliou  to  me, 

O  tliou  departed ! 
A  presence  still  of  thee, 

Dwelleth  instead : 
I  look,  and  thou  art  not ! 

Yet  art  thou  near  : 
There  is  that  can  part  not — 

Absent,  yet  here ! 


120  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


Co  a  <S  lolmr. 

Tuou  art  a  little  rustic  flower 

That  none  may  see  in  lady's  bower ; 

That  never  shone  in  minstrel's  lay, 

Or  form'd  a  wreath  on  festal  day. 

Thou  and  thy  lowly  sisters  lie, 

Unmark'd  by  many  a  passing  eye ; 

But  those  who  chance  to  linger  near 

"Will  find,  throughout  thy  little  sphere, 

There  breathes  a  sweetly-perfumed  air 

Which  brighter  spots  might  never  share. 

Loved  flower !— though  beauty  mark  thee  not, 

Thou  still  dost  flourish  unforgot ; 

For  where  thou  art  must  ever  be 

The  breath  of  life  and  liberty  ! 

!N~o  cultured  flowers  here  mock  thy  bloom, 

Or  render  faint  thy  soft  perfume  ;— 

Thou  liv'st  apart — the  gay  parterre 

May  never  own  thy  presence  there. 

And  now  to  me  thou  art  a  thing 

From  which  the  sweetest  thoughts  may  spring — 

All  holy — for  they  're  born  above, 

Where  He  who  form'd  thee  dwells  in  love, 

And  fondly  guards  the  wild-wood  flower, 

Till  vanish'd  is  its  little  hour. 


"Dear  was  the  early  sound 


SUNDAY     EVENING.  123 


'Uittotj  dfottittj. 


Farewell,  sweet  day  of  rest ! 

Gladly  at  morn  I  hail'd  thy  light : — 
And  now  I  see  thee  in  the  fading  west, 
Taking  thy  flight. 


Bright  fleeting  season  stay  ! 

]STor  to  the  past  yet  hurry  on; 
Still,  still  I  would  detain  thee,  on  thy  way 
To  Sabbaths  gone. 


Dear  was  the  early  sound 

That  floated  from  thy  joyous  bells 
Inviting  to  the  consecrated  ground 
Where  Jesus  dwells. 


Deserted  now  thy  fanes  : — 

The  herald's  voice — the  song — the  prayer 
Are  silent;  but  the  fragrance  still  remains 
That  fillM  mo  there. 


124:  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 

Calm  for  the  weary  breast  ! 

I  hail  thee,  foretaste  of  a  life 
Where,  in  an  endless  Sabbath,  we  shall  rest 
From  mortal  strife, 

Saviour  !  thv  gift  I  sing! 

Thine  is  the  clay  : — thine  let  it  be  ; 
And  may  each  hallow'd  season  nearer  bring 
Mv  soul  to  Thee  J 


ABIDE     IN     ME,    AND     I     IN     YOU.  125 


%hiit  in  3Jje,  ant)  |  in  £Jou, 

That  mystic  word  of  thine,  O  sovereign  Lord  ! 

Is  all  too  pure,  too  high,  too  deep  for  me  ; 
Weary  of  striving,  and  with  longing  faint, 

I  breathe  it  back  again  in  prayer  to  thee. 

Abide  in  me,  I  pray,  and  I  in  thee. 

From  this  good  hour,  0  leave  me  never  more! 
Then  shall  the  discord  cease,  the  wound  be  heal'd, 

The  life-long  bleeding  of  the  soul  be  o'er. 

Abide  in  me — o'ershadow  by  thy  love, 

Each  half-form'd  purpose,  and  dark  thought 
of  sin  ; 

Quench  ere  it  rise  each  selfish,  low  desire, 
And  keep  my  soul  as  thine,  calm  and  divine. 

As  some  rare  perfume  in  a  vase  of  clay 
Pervades  it  with  a  fragrance  not  its  own — 

So.  when  thou  dwellest  in  a  mortal  soul, 

All  heaven's  own  sweetness  seems  around  it 
thrown. 


126  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

The  soul  alone,  like  a  neglected  harp, 

Grows  out  of  tune,  and  needs  that  hand  divine; 

Dwell  thou  within  it,  tune  and  touch  the  chords, 
Till  every  note  and  string  shall  answer  thine. 

Abide  in  me  ;  there  have  been  moments  pure 
When  I  have  seen  thy  face,  and  felt  thy  power; 

Then  evil  lost  its  grasp,  and  passion,  hush'd, 
Own'd  the  divine  enchantment  of  the  hour. 

These  were  but  seasons  beautiful  and  rare  ; 

Abide  in  me,  and  they  shall  ever  be. 
I  pray  thee  now  fulfill  my  earnest  prayer, 

Come  and  abide  in  me  and  I  in  thee. 


MORNING     PKAYEK.  127 


0 ruing   %x%\tx< 


FROM    THE   GERMAN   OF   EICHENDORF. 

0  silence,  wondrous  and  profound! 
O'er  earth  doth  solitude  still  reign ; 

The  woods  alone  incline  their  heads, 
As  if  the  Lord  walk'd  o'er  the  plain. 

1  feel  new  life  within  me  glow  ; 
Where  now  is  my  distress  and  care  ? 

Here  in  the  blush  of  waking  morn 
I  blush  at  yesterday's  despair. 

To  me,  a  pilgrim,  shall  the  world, 
With  all  its  joys  and  sorrows,  be 

But  as  a  bridge  that  leads,  O  Lord  ! 
Across  the  stream  of  Time  to  thee. 

And  should  my  song  woo  worldly  gifts, 

The  base  rewards  of  vanity  : 
Dash  down  my  lyre  !  I  '11  hold  my  peace 

Before  thee  to  eternity. 


128  HILL-SIDE     FL0WEK8. 


aD-Jflctom. 


Rose  !  Rose !  open  thy  leaves  ! 

Spring  is  whispering  love  to  thee. 
Rose  !  Rose !  open  thy  leaves  ! 

Near  is  the  nightingale  on  the  tree. 
Open  thy  leaves ! 
Open  thy  leaves ! 
And  fill  with  balm-breath  the  sun-lit  eaves. 


Lily!  Lily!  awake,  awake! 

The  fairy  watcheth  her  flowery  boat- 
Lily!  Lily  !  awake,  awake  ! 

O  !  set  thy  scent-laden  bark  afloat. 
Lily  awake ! 
Lily  awake  ! 
And  cover  with  leaves  the  sleeping  lake. 


Flowers!  Flowers!  come  forth,  h is  spring ! 
Stars  of  the  woods,  the  hills  and  the  dells! 


MAY-FL0WEK8.  129 

Fair  valley  Lilies,  come  forth,  and  ring 
In  your  green  turrets  your  silvery  bells  ! 
Flowers,  come  forth  ! 
'T  is  spring !  't  is  spring ! 
And  beauty  in  field  and  woodland  dwells. 
6* 


130  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS, 


Cfu   Hhntsian   of  *§,tsl 

I  talked  to  my  fluttering  heart, 

And  chid  its  wild  wandering  ways  ; 
I  urged  it  from  folly  to  part, 

And  husband  the  rest  of  its  days. 
I  bade  it  no  longer  admire 

The  meteors  that  fancy  had  dress' d  ; 
I  whisper'd  't  was  time  to  retire, 

And  seek  for  a  Mansion  of  Rest. 


A  charmer  was  list'ning  the  while. 
Who  caught  up  the  tone  of  my  lay  : 

"O!  come,  then,"  she  cried,  with  a  smile, 
"And  I'll  show  you  the  place  and  the  way." 

I  follow'd  the  witch  to  her  home, 
And  vow'd  to  be  always  her  guest ; 

"  Nevermore,"  I  exclaim'd,  "  will  I  roam 
In  search  of  a  Mansion  of  Rest." 


THE    MANSION     OF     REST.  J  31 

But  the  sweetest  of  moments  will  fly  ; 

Not  long  was  my  fancy  beguiled, 
For  too  soon  I  confess'd,  with  a  sigh, 

That  the  syren  deceived  while  she  smiled. 
Deep,  deep  did  she  stab  the  repose 

Of  my  trusting  and  unwary  breast, 
Till  the  door  of  each  avenue  closed 

That  led  to  the  Mansion  of  Rest. 


Then  Friendship  enticed  me  to  stray 

Through  the  long  magic  wiles  of  Romance  ; 
But  I  found  that  she  meant  to  betray, 

And  shrunk  from  the  sorcerer's  glance. 
For  experience  has  taught  me  to  know 

That  the  soul  who  reclines  on  his  breast, 
May  toss  on  the  billows  of  woe, 

And  ne'er  find  the  Mansion  of  Rest. 


Pleasure's  path  I  determined  to  try, 

But  Reason  I  met  in  the  way  ; 
Conviction  flash'd  light  from  her  eye, 

And  appear'd  to  illumine  my  way. 
She  cried  as  she  show'd  me  the  grave, 

With  nettles  and  wild  flowers  dress'd, 
O'er  which  the  dark  cypress  did  wave, 

"Behold  there  the  Mansion  of  Rest!" 


132  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 

She  spake  and  half-vanish'©!  in  air, 

For  she  saw  mild  Religion  appear 
With  a  smile  that  might  banish  despair. 

And  dry  up  the  penitent  tear. 
Doubts  and  fears  from  my  bosom  were  driven, 

And  pressing  the  cross  to  her  breast. 
And  pointing  serenely  to  heaven, 

She  show'd  the  true  Mansion  of  Rest ! 


SONNET.  133 


FROM   THE   ITALIAN    OF   MICHAEL   ANQELO. 

!STow  my  frail  bark  through  life's  tempestuous 
flood 
Is  steer'd,  aud  full  in  view  that  port  is  seen 
Where  all  must  answer  what  their  course  has 
been, 
And  every  work  be  tried  if  bad  or  good. 
Now  do  those  lofty  dreams,  my  fancy's  brood, 
Which  made  of  art  an  idol  and  a  queen, 
Melt  into  air  ;  and  now  I  feel,  how  keen ! 
That  what  I  needed  most  I  most  withstood. 
Ye  fabled  joys !  ye  tales  of  empty  love ! 

What  are  ye  now,  if  two-fold  death  be  nigh  ? 
The  first  is  certain,  and  the  last  I  dread. 
Ah  !    what  does  sculpture,  what  does  painting 
prove  ? 
When  we  have  seen  the  cross  and  fix'd  our  eye, 
On  Him  whose  arms  of  love  were  there  out- 
spread. 


134 


HILL-SIDK    FLOWERS. 


tyiWa    J'aitl). 

O  that  I  had  thy  faith,  thou  gentle  child  ! 

Thy  trust  in  the  bright  future,  and  could  see 
Clearly,  by  human  reasoning  undefiled, 

The  spiritual  land  like  thee. 


Teach  me  thy  love,  thou  meek  philosopher! 

Show  me  thy  nightly  visions,  bright-eyed  seer! 
Give  me  thv  faith  !— why  should  I  blindly  err, 
Ami  sin-ink  with  conscious  fear? 


CHILD'S     FAITH.  135 

Why  should  my  soul  be  dark,  while  I  can  pour 
Forth  from  my  feeble  longings,  light  on  thine  ? 

Why  tremble  I,  when  thou  canst  proudly  soar  ? 
O  that  thy  faith  were  mine ! 

Death  cannot  chill  thy  heart,  nor  dim  thine  eye, 
For  thou  dost  fear  it  not;  thou  hast  no  dread 

In  looking  toward  the  future  mystery — 
No  dark  fears  for  the  dead. 

With  thee  the  dead  are  bless'd ;  they  have  gone 
forth 
Thou  know'st  not  whither,  but  to  some  fair 
home, 
Brighter,  far  brighter  than  our  summer  earth, 
Where  sorrow  cannot  come. 

It  matters  not  to  thee  that  angel  guest 

JSTor  spirit  hath  come  down  to  tell  thee  where, 

In  those  delicious  islands  of  the  blest — 
Thou  know'st  that  they  are  there. 

What  marvel  then  that  thou  shouldst  shed  no 
tear, 
Standing  beside  the  dead  that  thou  shouldst 
wreathe 
Thyself  with  flowers,  and  thy  bright  beauty  wear 
E'en  in  the  house  of  death! 


136  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

O  tliou  undoubting  one  !  who  from  the  Tree 
Of  Life  hast  pluck'd  and  eaten,  well  may'st 
thou, 

Unknowing  evil,  walk  in  spirit  free 
With  thine  unclouded  brow! 


Thy  faith  is  knowledge — and  without  a  fear 
Lookest  thou  onward  in  the  light  reveal'd  ; 

Thou  blessed  child !  in  thee  will  I  revere 
The  truth  which  God  hath  seal'd. 

I  will  not  doubt — like  thee  I  will  arise, 

And  clothe  my  soul  in  light,  nor  more  repine 

That  life,  and  death,  and  heaven  are  mysteries — 
Thy  strong  faith  shall  be  mine 

Then  may  I  see  the  beautiful  depart. 

The  fair  flowers  of  my  spring-time  fade  and  die, 

With  an  unquestioning,  unrebelling  heart, 
Strong  in  God's  certainty. 


THE     GENIUS     OF     DEATH  137 


Cljc  Cheilitis  of  fcatl]. 


The  Genius  of  Death  is  beautifully  represented  in  the  "Gem  "  as  a  winged 
boy,  his  weeping  eyes  covered  with  Ids  left  arm,  and  trailing  a  torch 
reversed  In  the  right  hand. 


What  is  death  ?     'T  is  to  be  free  ! 

No  more  to  love,  or  hope,  or  fear- 
To  join  the  great  equality  : 
All  alike  are  humbled  there  ! 
The  mighty  grave 
Wraps  lord  and  slave  ; 
Nor  pride  nor  poverty  dares  come 
Within  that  refuge-home,  the  tomb ! 


Spirit  with  the  drooping  wing. 

And  the  ever-weeping  eye, 
Thou  of  all  earth's  kings  art  king  ! 
Empires  at  thy  footstool  lie ! 
Beneath  thee  strew'd 
Their  multitude 
Sink  like  waves  upon  the  shore  ; 
Storms  shall  never  rouse  them  more ! 


138  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

What 's  the  grandeur  of  the  earth 

To  the  grandeur  round  thy  throne  ? 
Riches,  glory,  beauty,  birth, 
To  thy  kingdom  all  have  gone. 
Before  thee  stand 
The  wondrous  band ; 
Bards,  heroes,  sages,  side  by  side, 
Who  darken'd  nations  when  they  died! 

Earth  has  hosts ;  but  thou  canst  show 

Many  a  million  for  her  one  ; 
Through  thy  gates  the  mortal  flow 
Has  for  countless  years  roll'd  on. 
Back  from  the  tomb 
No  step  has  come  ; 
There  fix'd,  till  the  last  thunder's  sound 
Shall  bid  thy  prisoners  be  unbound  ! 


FRIEND     BORROW.  139 


Jfruiti  Storm  to. 

Do  not  cheat  thy  heart,  and  tell  her 

"  Grief  will  pass  away — 
Hope  for  fairer  times  in  future 

And  forget  to-day." 
Tell  her,  if  you  will,  that  sorrow 

Need  not  come  in  vain  ; 
Tell  her  that  the  lesson  taught  her 

Far  outweighs  the  pain. 


Cheat  her  not  with  tiie  old  comfort, 

"  Soon  she  will  forget  " — 
Bitter  truth,  alas !  but  matter 

Rather  for  regret. 
Bid  her  not  "  Seek  other  pleasures — 

Turn  to  other  things  :" 
Rather  nurse  her  caged  sorrow 

Till  the  captive  sings. 


140  11  1  LL-S  [DE     E  LOW  BBS. 

Rather  bid  her  go  forth  bravely, 

And  the  stranger  greet, 
Not  as  foe,  with  shield  and  buckler, 

But  as  dear  friends  meet. 
Bid  her  with  a  strong  clasp  hold  her 

By  her  dusky  Mini;-  : 
And  she  '11  whisper  low  and  gently 

Blessings  that  she  brings. 


how    peacefully!  141 


Pato    |}ratefullu 


How  peacefully  they  rest ! 

Cross-folded  there 
Upon  his  little  breast ! 
Those  tiny  hands  that  ne'er  were  still  before  ; 

But  ever  sported  with  its  mother's  hair, 
Or  the  bright  gem  that  on  her  breast  she  wore ! 

Her  heart  no  more  will  beat 
To  feel  the  touch  of  that  soft  palm, 
That  ever  seem'd  a  new  surprise, 
Sending  glad  thoughts  up  to  her  eyes, 
To  bless  him  with  their  holy  calm  ; 
Sweet  thoughts,  that  left  her  eyes  as  sweet ! 

How  quiet  are  the  hands 
That  wore  those  pleasant  bands ! 
But  that  they  do  not  rise  and  sink 
With  his  calm  breathing,  I  should  think 
That  he  were  dropp'd  asleep. 
Alas!   too  deep — too  deep 


142  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

Is  this  his  slumber  ! 

Time  scarce  can  number 
The  years  ere  he  will  wake  again — 
O !  may  we  see  his  eyelids  open  then  ! 

He  did  but  float  a  little  way 
Adown  the  stream  of  time, 
With  dreamy  eyes  watching  the  ripples  play 
And  list'ning  to  their  fairy  chime. 
His  slender  sail 
Ne'er  felt  the  gale  ; 
He  did  but  float  a  little  way, 
And  putting  to  the  shore, 
While  yet  't  was  early  day, 
Went  calmly  on  his  way, 

To  dwell  with  us  no  more. 
No  jarring  did  he  feel, 
.  No  grating  on  his  vessel's  keel. 
A  strip  of  silver  sand 
Ming-led  the  waters  with  the  land 
Where  he  was  seen  no  more  ! 
O!  stern  word — never  more  ! 


MY   BELOVED   IS   MINE,    AND   I   AM   HIS.     143 


g  $ clobrir  is  HJKiie,  auir  |  am  lis. 


Nor  time,  nor  place,  nor  chance  nor  death,  can 
bow 

My  least  desires  unto  the  least  remove ; 
He  's  firmly  mine  by  oath,  I  His  by  vow ; 

He  's  mine  by  faith,  and  I  am  His  by  love ; 
He 's  mine  by  water,  I  am  His  by  wine  ; 
Thus  I  my  best  Beloved's  am — thus  He  is  mine ! 

He  is  my  altar  ;  I  His  holy  place ; 

I  am  His  guest,  and  He  my  living  food  ; 
I  'm  His  by  penitence  ;  He  mine  by  grace ; 

I  'm  his  by  purchase  ;  He  is  mine  by  blood  ; 
He  's  my  supporting  elm,  and  I  His  vine  ; 
Thus  I  my  best  Beloved's  am — thus  He  is  mine ! 

He  gives  me  wealth  ;  I  give  Him  all  my  vows  ; 

I  give  him  songs ;  He  gives  me  length  of  days ; 
With  wreaths  of  grace  He  crowns  my  conquer- 
ing brows, 

And  I  His  temples,  with  a  crown  of  praise 
"Which  He  accepts  ;  an  everlasting  sign 
That  I  my  best  Beloved's  am — that  lie  is  mine  ! 


H4  HILL-SIDE     FLOWEB8. 


Comfart 

Speak  low  to  me,  my  Saviour,  low  and  sweet, 
From  out  the  hallelujahs,  sweet  and  low,     '■ 
Lest  I  should  fear  and  fall,  and  miss  thee  so, 

AVho  art  not  miss'd  by  any  that  entreat. 

Speak  to  me  as  to  Mary  at  thy  feet — 

And  if  no  precious  gums  my  hands  bestow, 
Let  my  tears  drop  like  amber ;  while  I  go 

In  reach  of  thy  divinest  voice  complete 

In  huinanest  affection — thus,  in  sooth, 
To  lose  the  sense  of  losing !     As  a  child, 
Whose  song-bird  seeks  the  wood  for  ever- 
more, 

Is  sung  to  in  its  stead  by  mother's  mouth ; 
Till,  sinking  on  her  breast,  love-reconciled, 
He  sleeps  the  faster  that  he  wept  before. 


3UMM  EK     8T1    D]  KS.  I  1  5 


Summer   §tuMes, 

10  A  FHlEND  WHO  COMPLAINED     CHA1     HE  COULD  NOT  8TBD1     IN    .IU2CE. 

Wiiv  shouldst  thou  studj  in  the  month  of  June 
In  dusky  books  of  Greek  and  Hebrew  lore, 

When  the  Great  Teacher  of  all  glorious  thing* 
Passes  in  hourly  light  before  thy  door  '■ 

There  is  a  brighter  book  unrolling  now; 

Fair  arc  its  leaves  as  is  the  tree  of  heaven, 
All  vein'd,  and  dew'd,  and  gemm'd with  wondrous 
signs. 

To  which  a  healing,  mystic  power  is  given. 

A  thousand  voices  to  its  study  call 
From  the  fair  hill-top,  from  the  waterfall; 
Where  the  bird  singeth,  and  the  yellow  bee, 
And  the  breeze  talketh  from,  the  airy  tree. 

Now  is  that  glorious  resurrection  time, 
When  all  earth's  buried  beauties  have  new 
birth ; 

Behold  the  yearly  miracle  complete — 

God  hath  created  a  new  heaven  and  earth! 


146  TI  ILL-SIDE     FLOWERS, 

No  tree  thai  wants  his  joyful  garment  now; 
No  flower  but  hastes  his  bravery  to  don  ; 
God  bids  thee  to  this  marriage-feast  of  joy. 

Let  thy  soul  put  the  wedding  garment  on. 

All  fringed  with  festal  gold  the  barberry  stands; 

The  ferns  exultant  clap  their  new-made  wings  ; 
The  hemlock  nestles  broideries  of  fresh  green,    '* 

And  thousand  bells  of  pearl  the  blueberry 
rings. 

The  long,  light  fingers  of  the  old  white  pines 
Do  beckon  thee  into  the  flickering  wood, 
Where  moving  spots  of  light  show  mystic  flowers, 
And  wavering  music  fills  the  dreamy  hours. 

Hast  thou  no  time  for  all  this  wondrous  show — 
No  thought  to  spare  ?     "Wilt  thou  forever  be 

With  thy  last  year's  dry  flower-stalk  and  dead 
leaves, 
And  no  new  shoot  or  blossom  on  thy  tree? 

See  how  the  pines  push  off  their  last  year's  leaves, 
And  stretch  beyond  them  with  exultant  bound  ; 

The  grass  and  flowers  with  living  power  o'ergrow 
Their  last    year's   remnants  on   the  greening 
ground. 


81   \i  M  EB     9T1  I' I  ESS.  147 

Wilt  thou,  then,  all  thy  wintry  tellings  keep, 
The  <>hl  dead  routine  of  thy  book-writ  lore; 

Nor  deem  that  God  can  teach  by  one  bright  hour 
What  life  hath  never  taught  to  thee  before? 


See  what  vast  leisure,  what  unbounded  rest. 
Lie  in  the  bending  dome  of  the  blue  sky  ; 

Ah!    breathe  that  life-born  languor  from  thy 
breast. 
And  know  once  more  a  child's  un  reasoning  joy. 

Cease,  cease  to  think,  and  be  content  to  be; 

Swing  safe  at  anchor  in  fair  Nature's  bay  ; 
Reason  no  more,  but  o'er  thy  quiet  soul 

Let  God's  sweet  teachings  ripple  their  soft  wa  \  ■ 

Soar  with  the  bird,  and  flutter  with  the  leaf; 

Dance  with  the  seeded  grass  in  fringy  play; 
Sail  with  the  cloud;  wave  with  the  dreaming 
pine, 

And  float  with  Nature  all  the  live-long  day. 

Call  not  such  hours  an  idle  waste  of  life  ; 

Land  that  lies  tallow  gains  a  quiet  power  ; 
It  treasures  from  the  brooding  of  God's  wings 

Strength  to  unfold  the  future  tree  and  flower. 


148  HILL-SIDE     FLOW]   I 

So  shall  it  be  with  thee  if,  restful  still, 

Thou  rightly  studicst  in  the  summer  hour ; 

Like  a  deep  fountain  which  a  brook  doth  fill, 
Thy  mind  in  seeming  rest  shall  gather  power. 

And  when  the  summer's  glorious  show  is  past, 
Its  miracles  no  longer  charm  thy  sight ; 

'The  treasured  riches  of  these  thoughtful  hours 
Shall  make  thy  wintry  musings  warm    and 
bright. 


RUTH    AND    NAOMI 


KUTII.  151 


ptfc. 


IH7O0E8TED   BY  A.  STATUE    EXECfTFD    BY   MR.    EOOEftS,    IN    PLOnr.NOE, 

From  age  to  age,  from  clime  to  clime, 
A  spirit  bright  as  her  own  morn, 

She  walks  the  golden  fields  of  Time, 
\-  erst  amid  the  yellow  corn, 

A  form  o'er  which  the  hallow'd  vail 
Of  years  bequeaths  a  lovelier  light, 

As  when  the  mists  of  morning  sail 
Round  some  far  isle  to  make  it  bright 

And  as  some  reaper  'mid  the  grain, 
Or  binder  resting  o'er  his  sheaf, 

Beheld  her  on  the  orient  plain, 
A  passing  vision,  bright  and  brief; 

And  while  he  gazed,  let  fall,  perchance, 

The  sheaf  or  sickle  from  his  hand- 
Thus,  even  here.  a-  in  a  trance. 
Before  her  kneeling  form  I  stand. 


152  HIl, I. -SIDE    FLOWERS. 

But  not  as  then  she  comes  and  goes 
To  live  in  memory  alone; 

The  perfect  soul  before  me  glows 
Immortal  in  the  living  stone, 


And  while  upon  her  face  1  gaze, 
And  scan  her  rarely  rounded  form, 

The  glory  of  her  native  days 

Comes  floating  o'er  me  soft  and  warm  ; 

<  '..ines  floating,  till  this  shadowj  place 
Brightens  to  noontide,  and  receives 

The  breath  of  that  old  harvest  space, 
With  all  its  sunshine  and  its  sheaves! 


CHOICE    COMFANJE,  153 


net  C omp uuir. 


I  sit  beside  the  foaming  fall 

Alar  in  the  wild  glen, 
I  hear  above  the  sheep-dog's  call, 

But  not  the  voice  of  men- 
Yet  I  'm  not  lonely,—- for  to  me 
My  own  sad  thoughts  are  eorapanie ! 

I  've  left  a  fair  and  joyous  crowd 

Who  will  not  dim  one  smile, 
]S^or  bate  a  note  of  laughter  loud 

Though  I  am  gone  the  while- 
Vet  am  I  lonely  ?     N<> !  t<.  me 
\!\  own  sad  thoughts  are  '•"liijianie ! 

'T  is  lonelier  far,  than  so  t<>  sit, 

Away  from  human  din, 
To  join  a  crowd,  yet  be  of  it 

A  part— but  not  akin  ! 
<  >  is  st  not  sweeter  thus  to  be 
Where  my  sad  thoughts  make  companie? 

7-X- 


154  ii  ILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 

They  never,  like  a  sunshine  friend, 

Without  a  shadow  leave  ; 
The  heart  they've  taught  a  bliss  to  find 

In  what  could  once  but  grieve ! 
There  comes  a  time  to  all,  as  me, 
When  sad  thoughts  are  best  companies. 


AT     NIGHT, 


1 55 


%\  tin  hi. 


5 

pROM   nir  i.i  i;m  \  n  or  kounkh 

(  TOOD  niglil  ! 

Thus  the  weary  we  ins  ite 
Waning  day  in  silence  flows, 
Xiiw  all  busy  hands  repose, 

Till  the  darkness  wakes  to  light 

|  t.:ni|    lliidlt    ' 


156  HILL-SIDE     FLOWEES. 

Seek  repose ! 
Let  the  weary  eye-lids  close! 
Silence  reigneth  iu  the  streets, 
With  his  horn  the  watchman  greets, 
And  the  night  cries,  as  it  flows. 
Seek  repose ! 

Gently  rest ! 
Similiter  on  'mid  visions  bless'd  ! 
He  whom  love  lias  robb'd  of  peace, 
May  he  find  in  dreams  release, 
As  if  she  her  love  confess'd  ! 
Gently  rest  ! 

Good  n iii'lil  ! 
Sleep  till  day-spring  wakes  on  high. 
Fearlessly,  until  the  day 
Shows  new  care-  upon  thy  way; 
Watchful  is  the  Father's  eye  ! 
Good  nighi  ! 


THE     EAR     OF    FAITH.  157 


%\t  €ix  of  fait  If. 

I  have  seen 
A  curious  child,  who  dwelt  upon  a  tract 
Of  inland  ground,  applying  to  his  ear 
The  convolutions  of  a  smoothJipp'd  shell  : 
To  which,  in  silence  hush'd,  his  very  soul 
Listen'd  intensely  ; — and  his  countenance  soon 
Brighten'd  with  joy ;  for  miirm'rmgs  from  within 
"Were  heard— sonorous  cadences  !  whereby, 
To  his  belief,  the  monitor  expressed 
Mysterious  union  with  its  native  sea. 
Even  such  a  shell  the  universe  itself 
Is  to  the  e;ir  of  Faith. 


158  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


ere   ira   ^ilrnre   in   31) ratirn 

( \\.\  angel-spirits  need  repose 
In  the  full  sun-light  of  the  sky  '. 

And  can  the  vail  of  slumber  close 
A  cherub's  bright  and  dazzling  eye  j 


Have  seraphim  a  weary  brow, 

A  fainting  heart,  an  aching  breast? 

No  !  for  too  high  their  pulses  flow 
To  languish  with  inglorious  rest, 


How  could  tlu'\  sleep  amid  the  bliss, 
The  banquet  of  delight  above? 

( )r  bear  for  one  short  hour  to  miss 
The  vision  of  the  Lord  thev  love? 


( ) !  nol  the  death-like  calm  of  sleep 
Could  still  the  everlasting  song! 

No  fairy  dream,  no  slumber  deep 
Entrance  the  rapl  and  holy  throng  ' 


T II  EC  BE    WAS     S I L  K  N  C  E     !  X     II  E  A  V  E  N.    1 59 

Yet  not  the  lightest  tone  was  heard 
From  angel  voice,  or  angel  band; 

And  not  one  plumed  pinion  stirr'd 
Among  the  bowed  and  blissful  band. 

For  there  was  silence  in  the  sky, 
A  joy  not  angel  tongues  could  tell, 

As  from  ita  mystic  font  on  high 
The  peace  of  God  in  silence  fell. 

0  what  is  silence  here  below — ■ 
The  quiet  of  conceal'd  despair  ? 

The  pause  of  pain,  the  dream  of  woe '( 
It  is  the  rest  of  rapture  there. 

And  to  the  way-worn  pilgrim  here, 
More  kindred  seems  the  perfect  peace 

Than  the  full  chant  of  joy  to  hear 
Roll  on,  and  never,  never  cease. 

From  earthh  agonies  set  five, 
Tired  with  the  path  too  slowly  trod, 

M.-iv  such  a  silence  welcome  me 
Into  the  palace  of  my  ( rod  ! 


160  HILL-SIPE    FLOWERS, 


Cotttnnplutioiu 


1 1 1  Bat  within  a  silent  cave,  apart 

From  men,  upon  a  chair  of  diamond  stone; 

Words  he  had  not,  companions  he  had  none,'« 
But  steadfastly  pursued  his  thoughtful  art ; 
And  as  he  mused  he  pulled  a  slender  string 

Which  evermore  within  his  hands  he  held  ; 

And  the  dim  curtain  rose,  which  had  concealed 
His  thoughts  ;  the  city  of  the  immortal  King, — 

There,  pictured  in  its  solemn  pomp  it  lay, 
A  glorious  country  stretching  round  about, 
And  through  its  golden  gates,  pass'd  in  and  out 

Men  of  all  nations,  on  their  heavenly  way. 
On   this  he  mused,  and  mused  the  whole  day 

l.Mlg, 

Feeding  Ids  feeble  faith  till  it  grew  strong. 


JERUSALEM.  163 


Jrrusalcm. 

I'aiu  shines  the  moon,  Jerusalem, 

Upon  the  hills  that  wore 
Thy  glory  once,  their  diadem 

Ere  Judalfs  reign  was  o'er  : 
The  stars  on  hallowed  Olivet 

And  over  Zion  burn  ; 
But  when  shall  rise  thy  splendor  set '{ 

Thy  majesty  return  ? 

The  peaceful  shades  that  wrap  thee  now 

Thy  desolation  hide ; 
The  moon-lit  beauty  of  thy  brow 

Restores  thine  ancient  pride  ; 
Vet  then  when  Rome  thy  Temple  rent, 

The  dews  of  midnight  wet 
The  marble  dome  of  Omar's  tent, 

And  Aksa's  minaret. 

Thy  strength,  Jerusalem,  is  o'er, 

And  broken  are  thy  walls; 
The  harp  of  Israel  sounds' no  more 

In  thy  deserted  halls: 


164  HILL-Si  p]      FLOWERS 

But  where  th\   kings  and  prophets  stood, 
Triumphant  over  death, 

Behold  the  living  soul  of  God, 
The  Christ  of  Nazareth, 

The  halo  of  His  presence  fills 

Thy  courts,  thy  ways  of  men  ; 
His  footsteps  on  thy  holy  hills 

Are  beautiful  as  then  ; 
The  prayer,  whose  bloody  sweat  betray'd 

His  human  agony, 
Still  haunts  the  awful  olive  shade 

( >f  old  Gethsemane. 

Woe  unto  thee,  Jerusalem! 

Slayer  of  Prophets  thou, 
That  in  thy  fury  stonesl  them 

God  -'-lit,  and  sends  thee  now  ;— - 
Where  thou,  0  Christ !  with  anguish  spent, 

Forgave  thy  foes,  and  died  ; 
Thy  garments  yet  are  dail\  rent 

Thy  soul  is  crucified  ! 

They  darken  with  the  Christian  name 

The  light  thai  from  thee  beam'd  ; 
And  M  the  hatred  they  proclaim 

'!'li\  Spirit  is  blasphemed. 


J  i;i;  I  -A  I.  KM,  L65 

Unto  thine  ears  the  prayers  they  send 

Were  fit  for  Belial's  reign  ; 
And  Moslem  cimeters  defend 

The  temple  they  profane. 

Who  shall  rebuild  Jerusalem  'I 

Her  scatter'd  children  bring 
Prom  Earth's  far  cuds,  and  gather  them 

Beneath  her  shearing  wing? 
For  Judah's  scepter  broken  lies. 

And  from  his  kingly  stem 
X  i  i  new  Messiah  shall  arise 

For  lost  Jerusalem  I 

But  let  the  wild  ass  on  her  hills 

Its  foal  unfrighted  lead  ; 
And  by  the  source  of  Kedron's  rills 

The  desert  adder  breed  : 
For  when  the  love  of  Christ  has  made 

Its  mansion  in  the  heart, 
lie  builds  in  pomp  that  will  not  fade 

Her  heavenly  counterpart. 

How  long,  (J  Christ!  shall  men  obscure 

Thy  holy  charity  ? 
Sow  long  the  godless  rites  endure 
Which  they  bestow  on  thee? 


166  HILL'S]  DE    !■  I.<>\\  ERS. 

Tliou.  in  a\  li<  -.sc1  soul  of  tenderness 
The  Father's  mercy  shone, 

Who  came,  the  sons  of  men  to  bless 
By  Truth  and  Love  alone. 

The  suns  of  eighteen  hundred  years 

Have  seen  thy  reign  expand, 
And  Morning,  on  her  pathway,  hears 

Thy  name  in  every  land ; 
But  where  thy  sacred  steps  were  senl 

The  Father's  will  to  hide, 
Thy  garments  yet  are  daily  rent — 

Thy  soul  is  crucified  ! 


STANZAS.  167 


?t;ui;jv 


FROM     i  '.\MltlTlKE. 

Withix  my  breast  I  said,  ()  what  is  life? 

Shall  I  still  follow  those  before  me  gone  \ 
Tread  the  broad  way  so  often  travel'd  o'er, 

And  man's  immortal  folly  make  mine  own  ? 

One  seeks  for  treasures  on  the  mighty  deep — ■ 
His  hopes,  his  vessel,  sleep  beneath  the  wave: 

Another  climbs  the  dazzling  heights  of  Fame, 
And  while  resound  the  echoes — 'rinds  a  grave. 

One,  with  our  varied  passions,  weaves  his  plot ; 

He  founds  a  throne,  and  mounts  thereon  to  fall ; 
Another  reads  his  fate  in  woman's  eyes, 

And  fetter'd,  dies  in  Beauty's  silken  thrall. 

The  sluggard  in  the  arms  of  hunger  sleeps  ; 

The  laborer  guides  the  fertilizing  plow; 
The  sage  reflects  and  reads  ;  the  warrior  strikes ; 

And  care  knits  close  the  beggar's  weary  brow. 


168  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

And  whither  go  they?  where  the  sere  leaves  go 
Flying  before  the  winter's  dreary  blast; 

The  generations  which  lime  sows  and  reaps 
Thus  in  their  labors  fade— -and  they  are  past. 

And  in  the  struggle  Time  is  conqueror; 

As  the  full  stream  engulfs  its  sandy  shore 
So  he  devours  these  transitory  shades  : 

They  live— they  die— and  they  are  seen  no 
more. 

I  sing  the  Master  1  adore,  amid 

The  city's  din,  and  in  the  deserts  calm  ; 

In  forest  glade,  or  on  the  trackless  sea, 

When  morning  wakes,  orevening  breathes  her 

balm. 

The  earth  demand-,  Who  is  the  Lord?     'TisHe 
Whose  soul  immense  pervades  the  realms  of 
space; 

Whose  single  step  measures  infinity  , 
By  whom  the  Sim  in  glory  runs  his  race. 

'Tis  He  !  it  is  the  Lord  !  let  me  repeat 
To  earth's  inhabitants  His  glorious  name; 

A  golden  lamp  before  His  altars  hung. 

I  '11  shine  for  Him  until  He  part  my  frame. 


THE     A-NOELS     01     GBIEF.  1G9 


Clje  %n%th  of  (Srkf, 

With  silence  only  as  their  benediction 

God's  angels  come, 
Where,  in  the  shadow  of  a  great  affliction, 

The  sonl  sits  dumb. 

Yet  would  we  say,  what  every  heart  approveth, 

Our  Father's  will, 
Calling  to  Him  the  dear  ones  whom  He  loveth, 

Is  mercy  still. 

Not  upon  us  or  ours  the  solemn  angel 

Hath  evil  wrought ; 
The  funeral  anthem  is  a  glad  evangel— 

The  good  die  not ! 

God  calls  our  loved  ones,  but  we  lose  not  wholly 

What  lie  has  given  ; 
They  live  on  earth,  in  thought  and  deed,  as  truly 

As  his  in  heaven. 
8 


170  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 


£ittM 


SUGGESTED   BY    THE    SIGHT   OF    BOJlE    LATE    AUTUMN    FLOWERS. 

Those  few  pale  autumn  flowers, 

How  beautiful  they  are ! 
Than  all  that  went  before, 
Than  all  the  summer  store, 

How  lovelier  far ! 


And  why?    They  are  the  last! 

The  last!  the  last!  the  last  I 
0  !  by  that  little  word 
How  many  thoughts  are  stirr'd  ; 

The  sister  of  the  past  I 


Pale  flowers!  pale  perishing  flowers  ! 

Ye  're  types  of  precious  things ; 
Types  of  those  bitter  moments, 
That  flit,  like  life's  enjoyments, 

On  rapid,  rapid  wings. 


LINES.  171 

Last  hours  with  parting  dear  ones, 
(That  time  the  fastest  spends,) 

Last  tears  in  silence  shed, 

Last  words  half  uttered, 
Last  looks  of  dying  friends. 

"Who  but  would  fain  compress 

A  life  into  a  day — 
The  last  day  spent  with  one 
Who,  ere  the  morrow's  sun, 

Must  leave  us,  and  for  aye  ? 

O  precious,  precious  moments  ! 

Pale  flowers !  ye  're  types  of  those ; 
The  saddest !  sweetest !  dearest ! 
Because,  like  those,  the  nearest 

To  an  eternal  close. 


Pale  flowers !  pale,  perishing  flowers ! 

I  woo  your  gentle  breath. 
I  leave  the  summer  rose — 
For  younger,  blither  brows. 

Tell  me  of  change  and  death. 


172  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


Time  is  a  river  deep  and  wide  ; 

And  while  along  its  banks  we  stray, 
"We  see  our  loved  ones  o'er  its  tide 

Sail  from  our  sight  away,  away. 
Where  are  they  sped — they  who  return 

No  more  to  glad  our  longing  eyes  ? 
They  've  passed  from  Life's  contracted  bourne, 

To  land  unseen,  unknown,  that  lies 
Beyond  the  river. 


'T  is  hid  from  view ;  but  we  may  guess 

How  beautiful  that  realm  must  be ; 
For  gleamings  of  its  loveliness, 

Li  visions  granted,  oft  we  see. 
The  very  clouds  that  o'er  it  throw 

Their  vail  unraised  for  mortal  sight, 
With  gold  and  purple  tintings  glow, 

Reflected  from  the  glorious  light 
Beyond  the  river. 


BEYOND     THE     RIVER.  173 

And  gentle  airs,  so  sweet,  so  calm, 

Steal  sometimes  from  that  viewless  sphere ; 
The  mourner  feels  their  breath  of  balm, 

And  soothed  sorrow  dries  the  tear. 
Sometimes  the  list'ning  ear  may  gain 

Entrancing  sound  that  hither  floats, 
The  echo  of  a  distant  strain, 

Of  harps  and  voices'  blended  notes, 
Beyond  the  river, 

There  are  our  loved  ones  in  their  rest ; 

They've  cross'd  Time's  Eiver — now  no  more 
They  heed  the  bubbles  on  its  breast, 

!Nor  feel  the  storms  that  sweep  its  shore. 
But  there  pure  love  can  live,  can  last— 

They  look  for  us  their  home  to  share  ; 
When  we  m  turn  away  have  pass'd, 

What  joyful  greetings  wait  us  there, 
Beyond  the  river. 


174  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 


%  §ptlt  erf  Jftfljft 

"  Bright  effluence  of  bright  essence  increate ! 

Before  the  sun,  before  the  heavens,  thou  wert." — Milton. 

From  the  quickened  womb  of  the  primal  gloom 

The  sim  roll'd  black  and  bare, 
Till  I  wove  him  a  vest  for  his  ^Ethiop  breast, 

Of  the  threads  of  my  golden  hair ; 
And  when  the  broad  tent  of  the  firmament 

Arose  on  its  airy  spars, 
I  pencil'd  the  hue  of  its  matchless  blue, 

And  spangled  it  round  with  stars. 


I  painted  the  flowers  of  the  Eden  bowers, 

And  their  leaves  of  living  green; 
And  mine  were  the  dyes  in  the  sinless  eyes 

Of  Eden's  virgin  queen; 
And  when  the  Fiend's  art  on  her  trustful  heart 

Had  fasten'd  its  mortal  spell. 
In  the  silvery  sphere  of  the  first-born  tear. 

To  the  trembling  earth  1  fell. 


A     HYMN     OF     LIGHT.  175 

When  the  waves  that  burst  o'er  a  world  accurs'd, 

Their  work  of  wrath  had  sped, 
And  the  Ark's  lone  few,  the  tried  and  true, 

Came  forth  among  the  dead  ; 
With  the  wondrous  gleams  of  my  braided  beams, 

I  bade  their  terrors  cease, 
As  I  wrote  on  the  roll  of  the  storm's  dark  scroll 

God's  covenant  of  peace. 


Like  a  pall  at  rest  on  a  pulseless  breast 

Night's  funeral  shadow  slept, 
Where  shepherd  swains  on  the  Bethlehem  plains 

Their  lonely  vigils  kept ; 
When  I  flash'd  on  their  sight  the  heralds  bright 

Of  Heaven's  redeeming  plan, 
As  they  chanted  the  morn  of  a  Saviour  born — 

Joy,  joy  to  the  outcast  Man ! 


Equal  favor  I  show  to  the  lofty  and  low, 
On  the  just  and  unjust  I  descend ; 

E'en  the  blind,  whose  vain  spheres  roll  in  dark- 
ness and  tears, 
Feel  mv  smile  the  host  smile  <>f  a  friend  : 


176  I1ILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 

Nay,  tlie  flower  of  the  waste  by  my  love  is  em- 
braced, 

As  the  rose  in  the  garden  of  kings ; 
At  the  chrysalis  bier  of  the  worm  I  appear, 

And  lo !  the  gay  butterfly's  wings ! 


From  my  sentinel  steep,  by  the  night-brooded 
deep, 

I  gaze  with  unslumbering  eye, 
When  the  cynosure  star  of  the  mariner 

Is  blotted  from  the  sky; 
And  guided  by  me  through  the  merciless  sea, 

Though  sped  by  the  hurricane's  wings, 
His  compassless  bark,  lone,  weltering,  dark, 

To  the  haven-home  safely  he  brings. 

I  waken  the  flowers  in  their  dew-spangled  bowel's, 

The  birds  in  their  chambers  of  green, 
And  mountain  and  plain  glow  with  beauty  again 

As  they  bask  in  my  matinal  sheen. 
O !  if  such  the  glad  worth  of  my  prosence  to  earth, 

Though  fitful  and  fleeting  the  while, 
What  glories  must  rest  on  the  homes  of  the  blest,' 

Ever  bright  with  the  Deity's  smile  ! 


to 

M 

w 

N 
<1 
H 

P 

«1 

M 

s 

w 
w 

w 


' 


NEHEMIAH    TO     ARTAXERXES.  179 


^^^mia|  to  gatitmra. 

Nehemiah  ii. 

'Tis  sorrow,  O  king!  of  the  heart, 

Not  anguish  of  body  or  limb, 
That  causes  the  hue  from  my  cheek  to  depart, 

And  mine  eye  to  grow  rayless  and  dim. 

'T  is  the  mem'ry  of  Salem  afar, 

Of  Salem  the  city  of  God, 
In  darkness  now  wrapp'd  like  the  moon  and 
the  star 

When  the  tempests  of  night  are  abroad. 

The  walls  of  the  city  are  razed, 
The  gates  of  the  city  are  burn'd ; 

And  the  temple  of  God,  where  my  fathers  have 
praised, 
To  the  ashes  of  ruin  are  turn'd. 

The  palace  of  kings  is  consumed, 

AVhere  the  timbrels  were  wont  to  resound; 
And  the  sepulchre  domes,  like  the  bones  they 
entomb'd, 

Are  mold'rine:  away  in  the  ground. 


180  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

And  the  fugitive  remnant  that  breathe 
In  the  land  that  their  fathers  have  trod, 

Sit   in  sorrow  and  gloom;  for  a  shadow  like 
death 
<  >'erhangg  every  wretched  abode. 

I  have  wept,  I  have  fasted,  and  pray'd 
To  the  great  and  the  terrible  God, 

For  this  city  of  mine  that  in  ruin  is  laid, 
And  my  brethren  who  smart  by  Ins  rod. 

And  now  1  beseech  thee,  ()  king! 

If  favor  I  find  in  thy  sight. 
That  I  may  revisit  my  In 'me,  where  the  wing 

Of  destruction  is  spread  like  the  night. 

And  when  I  to  Shushan  return 

From  rebuilding  my  forefather's  tomb, 

No  more  shall  the  heart  of  thy  cup-bearer  burn 
With  those  Borrows  that  melt  and  consume. 


LITTLE     CHILDREN.  181 


fittlr  C&ittrw. 


Weep  not  for  them  !  it  is  no  cause  for  sorrow 
That  their's  was  no  long  pathway  to  the  tomb ; 

They  had  one  bright  to-day ;  no  sad  to-morrow 
Eising  in  hope,  and  darkening  into  gloom. 

Weep  not  for  them !  their  snowy  plumes  expanded 
E'en  now  are  waving  through  the  worlds  of 
light ; 

Perchance,  on  messages  of  love  remanded, 
They  sweep  across  your  chambers  in  the  night. 

"Weep  not  for  them !     Give  tears  unto  the  living! 

O  waste  no  vain  regret  on  lot  like  theirs ! 
But  rather  make  it  reason  for  thanksgiving 

That  ye  have  nurtured  angels  unawares ! 


182  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


%\t  |fmaj*  of  \\t  §ttit. 


True  indeed  it  is 
That  they  whom  death  hath  hidden  from  our  sight 
Are  worthiest  of  the  mind's  regard  ;  with  them 
The  future  cannot  contradict  the  past. 
Mortality's  last  exercise  and  proof 
Is  undergone. — Wordsworth. 


I  call  thee  bless'd !  though  now  the  voice  be  fled 

Which  to  thy  soul  brought  day-spring  with  its 

tone, 

And  o'er  the  gentle  eyes  though  dust  be  spread, 

Eyes  that  ne'er  look'd  on  thine  but  light  was 

thrown 

Far  through  thy  breast : 


And  though  the  music  of  thy  life  be  broken, 

Or  changed  in  every  chord  since  he  is  gone- 
Feeling  all  this,  even  yet,  by  many  a  token, 
O  thou,  tin'  deeply,  but  the  brightly  lone, 
I  call  thee  bless'd  ! 


TIIE     IMAGE     OF     THE     DEAD.  183 

For  iii  thy  heart  there  is  a  holy  spot, 

As  mid  the  waste  an  isle  of  fount  and  palm, 

Forever  gone !  the  world's  breath  enters  not, 
The  passion  tempests  may  not  break  its  calm : 
'lis  thine,  all  thine! 


Thither,  in  trust  unbafned,  mayst  thou  turn 
From  weary  words,  cold  greetings,  heartless 
eyes, 
Quenching  thy  soul's  thirst  at  the  hidden  urn 
That,  fill'd  with  waters  of  sweet  mem'ry,  lies 
In  its  own  shrine. 


Thou  hast  thy  home !  there  is  no  power  in  change 
To  reach  that  temple  of  the  past — no  sway 

In  all  Time  brings,  of  sudden,  dark,  or  strange, 
To  sweep  the  still,  transparent  peace  away 
From  its  hush'd  air. 


And  O !  that  glorious  image  of  the  dead ! 

Sole  thing  whereon  a  deathless  love  may  rest, 
And  in  deep  faith  and  dreamy  worship  shed 

Its  high  gifts  fearlessly  !• — I  call  thee  bless'd, 
If  onlv  there  ! 


184  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

Bless'd;  f«>r  the  beautiful  within  thee  dwelling, 
Never  to  fade  !— a  refuge  from  distrust, 

A  spring  of  purer  life,  still  freshly  welling, 
To  clothe  the  barrenness  of  earthly  dust 
With  flowers  divine. 

And  thou  hast  been  beloved ! — it  is  no  dream, 
No  false  mirage  for  thee — the  fervent  love, 

The  rainbow  still  unreach'd,  the  ideal  gleam, 
That  ever  seems  before,  beyond,  above, 
Far  off  to  shine. 

But  thou,  from  all  the  daughters  of  the  earth 
Singled  and  mark'd,  hast  known  its  home  and 
place ; 
And  the  high  memory  of  its  holy  worth 
To  this  our  life  a  glory  and  a  grace 
For  thee  hath  given. 

And  art  thou  not  still  fondly,  truly  loved? 

Thou  art! — the  love  his  spirit  bore  away 
Was  not  for  earth  ! — -a  treasure  but  removed. 

A  bright  bird  parted  for  a  clearer  day — 
Thine  --till  in  heaven  ! 


COTTAGE     CHILDREN,  185 


Cottage  CljilkTit. 

WRITTEN    AMONG    THE    HILLS    OP    YARROW. 

Heaven  bless  ye  !  ye  dear  little  sons  of  the  hut ! 

Why  startle  and  run  from  your  play,  boys  ? 
Do  the  sound  and  the  sight  of  strangers  affright? 

Then  surely  but  few  pass  this  way,  boys  : 
Yet  sweet  is  your  cottage  that  stands  all  alone, 
And  smooth  is  the  sward  of  your  vale,  boys  ; 
And  dear  is  each  crook  of  the  whisp'ring  brook 
That  bids  it  each  moment  farewell,  boys. 

And  high  are  the  hills  that  enclose  you 
around, 
Where  your  flocks  ever  peacefully  feed, 
boys; 
And  blue  is  the  sky  that  attracts  your 

young  eye 
As  it  rests  on  your  green  mountain's  head, 
boys. 


Here  meek  Meditation  might  love  to  reside, 
To  silence  and  solitude  given  ; 


18G  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

And  calm  as  they  glide  might  the  hours  divide 
Between  her  mild  home  and  the  Heaven! 
Ah,  children,  bnt  small  is  this  valley  of 
yours, 
It  is  all  the  world  that  you  know,  boys  ! 
Yet  behind  that  high  mound  lies  a  world 

without  bound, 
But  alas  !  't  is  a  world  full  of  woe,  boys. 


From  the  height  of  yon  hill,  looking  onward 
afar, 
The  valley  may  charm  by  its  smile,  boys  ; 
But  approach  it  more  near,  and  't  will  rugged 
appear, 
And  beset  is  each  scene  with  a  toil,  boys. 
Then  quit  not  your  cottage,  ye  sons  of  the 
wild, 
And  still  of  your  mountain  be  fond, 
boys  ; 
For  what  do  you  lose  but  a  myriad  of 
woes 
By  knowing  not  what  is  beyond,  boys? 

And  sleep  with  your  fathers !  how  soothing  the 
flu  night! 
When  the  smi-t  i< U-  of  life  is  gone  by,  boys, 


COTTAGE     CHILDREN.  187 

Givo  your  clay  to  the  sod,  and  your  souls  to  the 
God 

Who  dwells  in  yon  bright  azure  sky,  boys. 
Let  the  moss-covered  seat,  and  the  shade 
of  the  thorn, 
Which  were  dear  to  your  fathers,  be 
thine,  boys ; 
And  the  hut  which  now  rears  your  infan- 
tile years, 
Let  it  shield,  too,  your  hoary  decline,  boys. 


188  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


litigation  to  £>ht$. 

Come,  with  thy  down y  wings,  soft  to  my  pillow  ; 

Scatter  (fresh-gathered)  thy  poppies  around  ;  >, 
Truce  bring  to  care — bring  a  respite  to  sorrow ; 

Darken  the  window,  and  hush  every  sound. 

Come,  with  thy  chalice  fill'd,  just  from  the  foun- 
tain, 

Causing  forgetfulness  still  with  the  sip, — 
Rest  to  the  weary  limbs—peace  to  the  troubled — 

"Waters  of  Lethe  to  moisten  the  lip. 

Come,  with  thy  signet,  the  eye-lids  impressing ; 

Shut  out  the  world,  with  its  toils,  from  the  view. 
Hopes  all  and  fears  all, — -its  pains  and  its 
pleasures, 

Its  light  and  its  shadows — adieu !  and  adieu ! 


PBATEB     DURING      BATTLK.  189 


frag^r  hiring  UattLe. 


Father,  I  call  on  Thee ! 
Roaring,  the  cannons  hurl  round  me  their  clouds  ! 
Flashing,  the  lightning  bursts  wildly  its  shrouds! 

God  of  battles,  I  call  upon  thee  ! 
Father,  O  guide  thou  me  ! 

Father,  O  guide  Thou  me ! 
Lead  me  to  victory,  lead  me  to  death ! 
Lord,  I'll  acknowledge  thee  with  my  last  breath. 

Lord,  as  thou  listest,  guide  thou  me ! 
God,  I  acknowledge  thee  ! 

God,  I  acknowledge  thee ! 
As  when  the  autumn-leaves  fall  to  the  ground, 
So,  when  the  thunders  of  battle  resound, 

Fountain  of  mercy,  I  recognize  Thee. 
Father,  O  bless  thou  me  1 

Father,  O  bless  thou  me ! 
E'en  to  thy  guidance  my  life  I  will  trust, 
Thcu  gavest  me  life,  thou  canst  turn  me  to  dual ; 

In  life  or  in  death,  be  thy  blessing  od  me  ! 
Father,  T  honor  thee  ! 


190  HILL-SIDE     FLOWEKS. 

Father,  I  honor  thee  ! 
'T  is  not  a  fight  for  this  world's  golden  hoard ; 
Holy  is  what  we  protect  with  the  sword, 

Hence,  falling  or  vanquishing,  praise  be  to  thee! 

God,  I  submit  to  thee ! 


God,  I  submit  to  thee! 
When  round  me  roar  the  dread  thunders  of  death, 
Whenmy  veins' torrent  shall  drain  my  last  breath, 
Then,  O  my  God,  I  submit  unto  thee  ! 

Father,  I  call  on  thee ! 


■I- 
o 


MILTON     OK      His     LOS8     OF     BIGHT.      193 


titan  on  his  $m  of  Sujbi 


I  am  old  and  blind  ! 
Men  point  ar  me  as  smitten  by  God's  frown; 
Afflicted,  and  deserted  of  my  kind. 

Yet  I  am  not  cast  down. 


I  am  weak,  yet  strong  ; 
I  murmur  not  that  I  no  longer  set- ; 
Poor,  old,  and  helpless,  I  the  more  belong, 

Father  supreme,  to  thee  ! 

0  merciful  One ! 
When  men  are  farthest  thenThou  art  most  near; 
When  friends  pass  by,  my  helplessness  to  shun, 

Thy  chariot  I  hear: 

Thy  glorious  face 

Is  leaning  toward  me,  and  its  holy  light 

Shines  in  upon  my  lonely  dwelling-place — 

And  there  is  no  more  night. 
9 


194  HILL-SIDE     FL0WEJB8. 

On  my  bended  knee 
I  recognize  Thy  purpose,  clearly  shown  ; 
M  v  vdsion  Thou  hast  dimm'd  that  I  may  see 

Thyself,  Thyself  alone. 


I  have  naught  to  fear ; 
This  darkness  is  the  shadow  of  Thy  wing; 
Beneath  it  I  am  almost  sacred — 'here 

Can  come  no  evil  thing. 


O !  I  seem  to  stand 
Trembling  whore  foot  of  mortal  ne'er  hath  been, 
Wrapp'd  in  the  radiance  of  Thy  sinless  land 

Which  eye  hath  never  seen. 


Visions  come  and  go  ; 
Shapes  of  resplendent  beauty  round  me  throng; 
From  angel  lips  I  seem  to  hear  the  flow 

Of  soft  and  holy  song. 


It  is  nothing  now, 
When  Heaven  is  opening  on  my  sightless  eyes; 
When  airsfrom  Paradise  refresh  my  brow 

That  earth  in  darkness  lies. 


MILTON     ON      HIS     LOSS     OF     SIGHT.      195 

111  a  purer  clime 
My  being  tills  with  rapture — waves  of  thought 
/lioll  in  upon  my  spirit — strains  sublime 

Break  over  me  unsought. 

Give  me  now  my  lyre  ! 
I  feel  the  stirrings  of  a  gift  divine ; 
Within  my  bosom  glows  unearthly  fire, 

Lit  by  no  skill  of  mine. 


190  IIILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


\  ^torij  of  ^tljooL 


The  red  light  shone  through  the  open  door, 
From  the  round  declining  sun ; 

And  fantastic  shadows  all  about 
On  the  dusty  floor  were  thrown. 

As  the  factory  clock  told  the  hour  of  live, 
And  the  school  was  almost  done. 


The  mingled  hum  of  the  busy  town 
Kose  faint  from  her  lower  plain  ; 

And  we  saw  the  steeple  over  the  trees 
With  its  motionless  golden  vane  ; 

And  heard  the  cattle's  musical  low, 
And  the  rustle  of  standing  grain. 


In  the  open  casement  a  lingering  bee 

Murmured  a  drowsy  tune  ; 
And  from  the  upland  meadows  a  song, 

In  the  lulls  of  the  afternoon, 
Had  conic  on  the  air  that  wander'd  bj 

Laden  with  the  scents  of  June. 


A    STOKY     OF     SCHOOL.  197 

Our  tasks  were  finish'd  and  lessons  said, 
And  we  sat,  all  hushed  and  still, 

Listening  to  catch  the  purl  of  the  brook, 
And  the  whirl  of  the  distant  mill; 

And  waiting  the  word  of  dismissal  that  yet 
Waited  the  master's  will. 


The  master  was  old,  and  his  form  was  bent, 
And  scatter'd  and  white  his  hair; 

But  his  heart  was  young,  and  there  ever  dwelt 
A  calm  and  kindly  air, 

Like  a  halo  over  a  pictured  saint 
On  his  face  marked  deep  with  care. 


His  eyes  were  closed,  and  his  wrinkled  hands 

Were  folded  over  his  vest, 
As  wearily  hack  in  his  old  arm-chair 

He  reclined  as  if  to  rest ; 
And  the  golden,  streaming  sunlight  fell 

On  his  brow  and  down  his  breast. 


We  waited  in  reverent  silence  long, 

And  silence  the  master  kept ; 
Thou<rh  still  the  accustomed  saintly  smile 


198  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

Over  his  fcaturos  crept ; 
And  we  thought,  worn  with  the  lengthened 

toil 
Of  the  summer's  day,  he  slept. 

So  we  quietly  rose  and  left  our  seats, 

And  outward  into  the  sun, 
From  the  gathering  shades  of  the  dusty  room, 

Stole  silently,  one  by  one  ; 
For  we  knew,  by  the  distant  striking  clock, 

It  was  time  the  school  was  done. 


And  left  the  master,  sleeping  alone — 

Alone  in  his  high-back'd  chair; 
With  liis  eyelids  closed,  and  his  wither'd  palms 

Folded  as  if  in  prayer  ; 
And  the  mingled  light  and  smile  on  his  face — ■ 

And  we  knew  not  death  was  there! 

Nor  knew  that,  just  as  the  clock  struck  five, 

His  kindly  soul  away 
A  shadowy  messenger  silently  bore 

From  his  trembling  house  of  clay, 
To  be  a  child  with  Hie  saints  of  heaven, 

And  to  dwell  with  Christ  alway! 


.not    TO     MYSELF     A.LONI  199 


"  Not  to  myself  alone," 
Tlie  little  opening  flower  transported  cries; 
"  Not  to  myself  alone  I  bud  and  bloom, 
With  fragrant  breatli  the  breezes  I  perfume, 
And  gladden  all  things  with  my  rainbow  dyes. 
The  bee  comes  sipping  every  eventide 

His  dainty  fill : 
The  butterfly  within  my  cup  doth  hide 
From  threat'ning  ill." 


"  Not  to  myself  alone," 
The  circling  star  with  honest  pride  doth  boast; 
"  Not  to  myself  alone  I  rise  and  set ; 
I  write  upon  night's  coronet  of  jet 
His  power  and  skill  who  form'd  our  myriad  host ; 
A  friendly  beacon  at  heaven's  open  gate, 

I  gem  the  sky, 
That  man  might  ne'er  forget,  in  every  fate, 
Mis  hope  on  high." 


'2^0  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 

••  Not  to  myself  alone,'' 
The  heavy-laden  bee  <l<>th  murm'ring  hum  : 
••  Not  to  myself  alone  from  flower  to  flower 
I  roam  the  wood,  the  garden,  and  the  bower, 
And  to  the  hive  at  evening  weary  come. 
For  man,  for  man,  the  luscious  food  I  pile 
With  busy  care, 
Ccntent  if  he  repay  my  cheerful  toil 
With  scanty  share," 


"Not  to  myself  alone," 
The  soaring  bird  with  lusty  pinion  sinus ; 
••  \<>t  to  myself  alone  I  raise  my  song — 
I  cheer  the  drooping  with  my  warbling  tongue, 
And  hear  the  mourner  on  my  viewless  wings — 
I  bid  the  hymnless  churl  my  anthem  learn, 

And  God  adore — 
I  call  the  worldling  from  his  dross  to  turn, 
And  sing  and  soar." 


••  Not  to  myself  alone," 
Tin-  streamlet  whispers  on  its  pebbly  way; 

••  Not  to  myself  alone  I  sparkling  glide — 
1  -cutter  health  and  life  on  every  side. 
And  strew  the  fields  with  herb  and  flow'ret  gay. 


NOT     TO     MYSELF     ALONE.  201 

I  sing  unto  the  common,  bleak  and  bare, 

My  gladsome  time ; 
I  swooten  and  refresh  the  languid  air 

In  droughty  June." 


"  Not  to  myself  alone,"— 
O  man !  forget  not  thou—earth's  honor'd  priest, 
Its  tongue,  its  soul,  its  life,  its  pulse,  its  heart — 
In  earth's  great  chorus  to  sustain  thy  part ! 
Chiefest  of  guests  at  love's  ungrudging  feast. 
Play  not  the  niggard,  spurn  thy  native  clod, 

And  self  disown— 
Live  to  thy  neighbor,  live  unto  thy  God — 
Not  to  thyself  alone  ! 
9* 


202  HILL-SIDE    FLOWEBB. 


(Tlie  6 rnn an  c'atatrlj  man's  Song. 

Hark  ye,  neighbors,  and  hear  me  tell — 
Ten  now  strikes  on  the  belfry  bell ! 
Ten  are  the  holy  commandments  given 
To  man  below,  from  God  in  heaven. 

Human  watch  from  harm  can't  ward  us — 

God  will  watch  and  God  will  guard  us  ; 

May  He,  through  eternal  might. 

Give  us  all  a  blessed  night ! 


Hark  ye,  neighbors,  and  hear  me  tell — 
Eleven  sounds  on  the  belfry  bell  ! 
Eleven  apostles  of  holy  mind 
Taught  the  Gospel  to  mankind. 
Human  watch,  &c. 

Hark  ye,  neighbors,  and  hear  me  tell — 
Twelve  resounds  from  the  belfry  bell ! 
Twelve  disciples  to  Jesus  came, 
Win.  suffered  rebuke  for  their  Saviour's  name. 
I InniuM  watch,  &c. 


THE     GERMAN     WATCHMAN'S     SONG.         203 

Hark  ye,  neighbors,  and  hear  me  tell — 
One  has  struck  on  the  belfry  bell ! 
One  God  above  is  Lord  indeed, 
Who  is  our  strength  in  time  of  need. 
Human  watch  &c. 

Hark  ye,  neighbors,  and  hear  me  tell — 
Two  resounds  from  the  belfry  bell ! 
Two  paths  before  mankind  are  free  ; 
Neighbor,  choose  the  good  for  thee. 
Human  watch  &c. 

Hark  ye,  neighbors,  and  hear  me  tell — ■ 
Three  now  tolls  on  the  belfry  bell ! 
Threefold  reigns  the  heavenly  host, 
Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost. 

Human  watch  from  harm  can't  ward  us — 

God  will  watch  and  God  will  guard  us ; 

May  He,  through  eternal  might, 

Give  us  all  n  blosse<l  night ! 


204  ][  ILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 


%\t  C|iU)  of  (f/artlj. 

Faintee  her  slow  step  fulls  from  day  to  day; 

Death's  hand  is  heavy  on  her  darkening  brow: 
Yet  doth  she  fondly  cling  to  earth,  and  say, 

wt  I  am  content  to  die — bnt  O,  not  now  ! — 
Not  while  the  blossoms  of  the  joyous  spring 

Make  the  warm  air  such  luxury  to  breathe ; 
Not  while  the  birds  such  lavs  of  gladness  sing  ; 

Not  while  the  bright  flowers  round  my  foot- 
steps wreathe. 
Spare  me,  great  God !  lift  up  my  drooping  brow — 
1  am  content  to  die — -but  O,  not  now !" 

The  Spring  hath  ripened  into  summer-time; 

The  season's  viewless  boundary  is  pass'd; 
The  glorious  Sun  hath  reach'd  its  burning  prime; 

() !  must  this  glimpse  of  beauty  be  the  last? 
"  Let  me  not  perish  while,  o'er  land  and  lea, 

With  silent  steps,  the  Lord  of  light  moves  on  ; 
For,  while  the  murmur  of  the  mountain  bee 

Greets  my  dull  ear  with  music  in  its  tone. 
Pale  sickness  dims  my  eye  and  clouds  my  brow — 
I  am  content  to  die — but  (),  not  now!" 


THE    CIITLD    OF   EARTH.  205 

Summer  is  gone  ;  and  Autumn's  sober  hues 

Tint  the  ripe  fruits,  and  gild  the  waving  corn  : 
The  huntsman  swift  the  flying  game  pursues, 

Shouts  the  halloo,  and  winds  his  eager  horn. 
"  Spare  me  awhile  to  wander  forth  and  gaze 

On  the  broad  meadows  and  the  quiet  stream  ; 
To  watch  in  silence  while  the  evening  rays 

Slant  through  the  fading  treos  with  ruby  gleam ! 
Cooler  the  breezes  play  around  my  brow — 
I  am  content  to  die — but  O,  not  now !" 

The  bleak  wind  whistles ;  snow-showers,  far  and 
near, 

Drift  without  echo  to  the  whitening  ground  : 
Autumn  hath  pass'd  away,  and  cold  and  drear 

Winter  stalks  on  with  frozen  mantle  bound  ; 
Yet  still  that  prayer  ascends.     "  O  !  laughingly 

My  little  brothers  round  the   warm    hearth 
crowd ; 
Our  home-fire  blazes  broadband  bright,  and  high, 

And  the  roof  rings  with  voices  light  and  loud — 
Spare  me  awhile!  raise  up  my  drooping  brow! 
I  am  content  to  die— but  O,  not  now !" 

The  Spring  has  come  again— the  joyful  Spring. 
Again  the  banks  with  clustering  flowers  are 
spread ; 


206  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

Tlie  wild  bird  dips  upon  its  wanton  wing ; 

The  child  of  earth  is  number'd  with  the  dead! 
Thee  never  more  the  sunshine  shall  awake, 

Beaming  all  redly  through  the  lattice-pane; 
The  steps  of  friends  thy  slumbers  may  not  break, 

Nor  fond,  familiar  voice  arouse  again. 
Death's  silent  shadow  vails  thy  darken'd  brow  ; 
Why  didst  thou  linger? — thou  art  happier  now. 


MY     FRIENDS.  207 


2  Jncnix 


With  conscious  pride,  I  view  the  band 
Of  faithful  friends  that  round  me  stand; 
With  pride  exult  that  I  alone 
Can  join  these  scatter'd  gems  in  one  ; 
For  they  're  a  wreath  of  pearls,  and  I 
The  silken  cord  on  which  they  lie. 

'T  is  mine  their  inmost  souls  to  see  ; 
Unlock'd  is  every  heart  to  me  ; 
To  me  they  cling — on  me  they  rest, 
And  I  've  a  place  in  every  breast; 
For  they  're  a  wreath  of  pearls,  and  1 
The  silken  cord  on  which  they  lie  ! 


208  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 


jl  Oil  It  ft 


FROM   THE    ITALIAN   OF   PETRARCH. 


If  e'er  I  hear  the  plaint  of  birds,  or  sound 

Of  green  leaves  stirred  by  the  soft  summer  air, 
Or  rush  of  sparkling  waters  as  they  bound 
Through  grassy  banks,  with  golden  flowers 
fair ; 
As  sad  I  sit  and  muse  of  love  and  write — 

I  hear,  I  know,  I  see  before  my  eyes 
Her  whom  Heaven  gave,  but  earth  now  hides 
from  sight. 

Living,  she  answers  from  afar  my  sighs  : 

"Why  art  thou  wasted  ere  thy  time  with  grief?" 

( rently  she  says,  "Why  stream  those  bitter  teats  \ 
Weep  not  for  me — dying,  I  changed  my  brief 

And  transient  moments  for  immortal  years; 
Seeming  to  close  my  eyes  in  deepest  night, 
I  opened  them  to  everlasting  light!" 


THE     REVEILLE 


CHARADE.  211 


Cljantfo. 


Come  from  my  first !   ay,  come  I 

The  battle  dawn  is  nigh  ; 
And  the  screaming  trump  and  the  thundering 
drum 


Are  calling  thee  to  die ! 


Fight  as  thy  father  fought ; 

Fall  as  thy  father  fell ; 
Thy  task  is  taught,  thy  shroud  is  wrought, 

So  forward;  and  farewell! 


Toll  ye  my  second !  toll ! 

Fling  high  the  flambeau's  light ! 
And  sing  the  hymn  for  a  parted  soul 

Beneath  the  silent  night. 
The  wreath  upon  his  head, 

The  cross  upon  his  breast ; 
Let  the  prayer  be  said,  and  the  tear  be  shed, 

So  take  him  to  his  rest. 


212  HILL-S1PE    FLOWERS. 

Call  ye  my  whole!  ay  call 

The  lord  of  lute  and  lay  ! 
And  let  him  greet  the  sable  pall 

With  a  noble  song  to-day. 
Go  call  him  by  bis  name; 

No  fitter  band  may  crave 
To  light  the  flame  of  a  soldier's  name 

<  )ii  the  turf  of  a  soldier's  grave. 


C O N T E N T.  —  DISCONT  I •:  NT.  213 


Content, — §mnUrtt. 

Some  niurniur  when  their  sky  is  clear, 

And  wholly  bright  to  view, 
If  one  small  speck  of  dark  appear 

In  their  great  heaven  of  blue. 
And  some  with  thankful  love  are  fillM, 

If  but  one  streak  of  light, 
One  ray  of  God's  good  mercy  gild 

The  darkness  of  their  night. 


In  palaces  are  hearts  that  ask, 

In  discontent  and  pride, 
Why  life  is  such  a  dreary  task, 

And  all  good  things  denied  ? 
And  hearts  in  poorest  huts  admire, 

How  love  has  in  their  aid 
(Love  that  not  ever  seems  to  tire) 

Such  rich  provision  made. 


214  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


fralooi)  Pjmn. 


Broods  there  some  spirit  here  ? 
The  summer  leaves  hang  silent  as  a  cloud, 

And  o'er  the  pools,  all  still  and  darkly  clear, 
The  wild  wood  hyacinth  with  awe  seems  bow'd  ; 

And  something  of  a  tender  cloistral  gloom 

Deepens  the  violet's  bloom. 

The  very  light  that  streams, 
Through  the  dim  dewy  vail  of  foliage  round, 

Comes,  tremulous  witli  emerald-tinted  gleams, 
As  if  it  knew  the  place  were  holy  ground, 

And  would  not  startle,  with  too  bright  a  burst, 

Flowers  all  divinely  nursed. 

Wakes  there  some  spirit  here  ? 
A  swift  wind,  fraught  with  change,  comes  rush- 
ing by, 

And  leaves  and  waters,  in  its  wild  career, 
Shed  forth  sweet  voices — each  a  mystery  ! 

Surely  some  awful  influence  must  pervade 

These  depths  of  trembling  shade  ! 


WOOD     HYMN.  215 

Yes,  lightly,  softly  move ! 
There  is  a  Power,  a  Presence  in  the  woods ; 

A  viewless  Being,  that  with  life  and  love 
Informs  the  reverential  solitudes; 

The  rich  air  knows  it,  and  the  mossy  sod — 

Thou,  Thou  art  here,  my  God  ! 

And  if  with  awe  we  tread 
The  minster-floor,  beneath  the  storied  pane, 

And  'midst  the  mold'ring  banners  of  the  dead, 
Shall  the  green  voiceful  wild  seem  less  Thy  fane, 

Where  Thou  alone  hast  built? — where  arch 
and  roof 

Are  of  Thy  living  woof? 

The  silence  and  the  sound 
In  the  lone  places  breathe  alike  of  Thee  ; 

The  temple-twilight,  or  the  gloom  profound, 
The  dew-cup  of  the  frail  anemone, 

The  reed  by  every  wandering  whisper  thrill'd — 

All,  all  with  Thee  are  fill'd. 

O,  purify  mine  eyes 
More  and  yet  more,  by  love  and  holy  thought, 
Thy  presence,  Holiest  One  !  to  recognize 


21G  HILL-SIDE     FLOWEES. 

In  these  majestic  isles  which  thou  hast  wrought! 
And,  'midsttheir  sea-like  murmurs, teach  mine 

ear 
Ever  thy  voice  to  hear  ! 

And  sanctify  my  heart 
To  meet  the  awful  sweetness  of  that  tone 

With  no  faint  thrill  or  self-accusing  start, 
But  a  deep  joy  the  heavenly  guest  to  own  ! 

Joy,  such  as  dwelt  in  Eden's  glorious  bowers 

Ere  sin  had  dimm'd  the  flowers. 

Let  me  not  know  the  change 
O'er  nature  thrown  by  Guilt! — the  boding  sky, 

The  hollow  leaf-sounds  ominous  and  strange, 
The  weight  wherewith  the  dark  tree-shadows  lie! 

Father,  O  keep  my  footsteps  pure  and  free, 

To  walk  the  woods  with  Thee! 


ONLY     WAITING.  217 


®  it  I  ii  WUittitij. 


A  very  aged  man  in  an  almshouse  was  asked  what  he  was  doing  now.   He 
replied,  "  Only  waiting." 

Only  waiting  till  the  shadows 

Are  a  little  longer  grown  ; 
Only  waiting  till  the  glimmer 

Of  the  day's  last  beam  is  flown  : 
Till  the  night  of  earth  is  faded 

From  the  heart  once  full  of  day  ; 
Till  the  stars  of  heaven  are  breaking 

Through  the  twilight  soft  and  gray. 


Only  waiting  till  the  reapers 

Have  the  last  sheaf  gather'd  home  ; 
For  the  summer  time  is  faded 

And  the  autumn  winds  have  come. 
Quickly,  reapers  !  gather  quickly 

The  last  ripe  hours  of  my  heart, 
For  the  bloom  of  life  is  wither'd, 

And  I  hasten  to  depart. 
10 


218  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 

Only  waiting  till  the  angels 

Open  wide  the  mystic  gate. 
At  whose  feet  I  long  have  linger'd, 

Weary,  poor,  and  desolate. 
Even  now  I  hear  their  footsteps 

And  their  voices  far  away  : 
If  they  call  me  I  am  waiting, 

Only  waiting  to  obey. 

Only  waiting  till  the  shadows 

Are  a  little  longer  grown ; 
Only  waiting  till  the  glimmer 

Of  the  day's  last  beam  is  flown. 
Then,  from  out  the  gathering  darkness, 

Holy,  deathless  stars  shall  rise, 
By  whose  light  my  sonl  shall  gladly 

Tread  its  pathway  to  the  skies. 


i  ii  l       FIRE-FLY.  219 


Clje  $iu-$li. 


ini;  day  has  departed,  and,  far  in  the  west, 
The  sun  has  gone  down  in  his  chambers  of  rest ; 
The  earth  is  enwrapp'd  in  her  mantle  of  night, 
And  the  gleam  of  the  Fire-fly  breaks  on  the  sight. 

How  mild,  unobtrusive,  and  transient  the  ray  ! 
No  noise  or  confusion  is  heard  in  their  play ; 
Now   backward,  now  forward,  incessant   they 

veer, 
As  gaily  they  move  in  their  shining  career. 

Thou  wonder  of  childhood — mysterious  light! 
How  welcome  thy  glow  in  the  darkness  of  night  ! 
A  spark  evanescent, — abeam  of  the  sun, — 
<  >r  a  wandering  star  when  the  day -light  is  done. 

Now  low  on  the  grass, and  now  high  in  the  trees, 
They  part,  intermingle,  and  float  on  the  breeze; 
How  voiceless  the  music  that  guides  them  along! 
T  is  nature's  thanksgiving — 'tis  silence  of  song 


220  HILL-SIDE     FLOWEBS. 

If  thus  such  a  poor  insignificant  fly 
Can  honor  the  name  of  the  Holy  and  High, 
O  what  does  He  ask  of  the  souls  he  has  given, 
To  shine  evermore  in  the  kingdom  of  Heaven ! 


PSA  l-M     CXX35  V  II. 


223 


palm   crrrtrii 

"By  the  Rivors  of  Babylon." 

We  sat  us  down  and  wept 
Where  Babel's  waters  slept, 
And  we  thought  of  home  and  Zion  as  a  long- 
gone,  happy  dream ; 
We  hung  our  harps  in  air 
On  the  willow  boughs  which  there, 
Gloomy  as   round   a  sepulchre,  were  drooping 
o'er  the  stream. 


The  foes,  whose  chain  we  wore, 
Were  with  us  on  that  shore, 
Exulting  in  our  tears  that  told  the  bitterness  of 
woe. 
"Sing  us,"  they  cried  aloud, 
"Ye  once  so  high  and  proud, 
The  songs  ye  sang  in  Zion  ere  we  laid  her  glory 
low." 


224  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

And  shall  the  harp  oi*  heaven, 
To  Judah's  monarch  given, 
Be  touch'd  by  captive  fingers,  or  grace  a  fetter'd 
hand  ? 
Xo  !  sooner  be  my  tongue 
Mute,  powerless,  unstrung, 
Than  its  words  of  holy  music  make  glad  a  stranger 
land. 

May  this  right  hand,  whose  skill 
Can  wake  the  harp  at  will, 
And  bid  the  listeners'  joys  or  griefs  in  light  or 
darkness  come, 
Forget  its  godlike  power, 
If,  for  one  brief,  dark  hour, 
Mv    heart  forgets  Jerusalem,  fallen  city  of  my 
home! 


sorrow.  225 


Count  each  affliction,  whether  light  or  grave, 
God'3  messenger  sent  down  to  thee.     Do  thou 
With  courtesy  receive  him;  rise  and  bow, 
And  ere  his  shadow  pass  thy  threshold,  crave 
Permission  first  his  heavenly  feet  to  lave. 
Then  lay  before  him  all  thou  hast.     Allow 
1S0  cloud  of  passion  to  usurp  thy  brow, 
Or  mar  thy  hospitality ;  no  wave 
Of  mortal  tumult  to  obliterate 
The  soul's  marmorean  calmness.    Grief  should 
be, 
Like  joy,  majestic,  equable,  sedate, 
Confirming,  cleansing,  raising,  making  free ; 
Strong  to  consume  small  troubles,  to  commend 
Great  thoughts,  grave  thoughts,  lasting  to  the  / 
end. 

10* 


226  JIILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 


tin  <$0&  %>mt 


0  God  unseen,  but  not  unknown, 
Thine  eye  is  ever  fixed  on  me  ; 

1  dwell  beneath  thy  secret  throne, 
Encompassed  by  thy  Deity. 


Throughout  this  universe  of  space 
To  nothing  am  I  Long  allied  ; 

For  flight  of  time,  ami  change  of  place. 
My  strongest,  dearest  bonds  divide. 


Parents  I  had,  but  where  are  they? 

Friends  whom  I  knew  I  know  no  more  ; 
Companions  once  that  cheer'd  ray  way 

Have  dropp'd  behind,  or  gone  before. 


Now  I  am  one  amid  the  crowd 

Of  life  and  action,  hurrying  round  : 

Now  Left  alone,  —tin-.  Like  a  cloud. 
They  came,  they  went,  and  are  no1  found. 


THOU     GOD     SEEST     ME.  227 

E'en  from  myself  sometimes  I  part — 
Unconscious  sleep  is  nightly  death  ; 

Yet  surely  by  my  bed  Thou  art, 

To  prompt  my  pulse,  inspire  my  breath. 


Of  all  that  I  have  done  or  said 

How  little  can  I  now  recall ! 
Forgotten  things  to  me  are  dead  ; 

With  Thee  they  live,  Thou  know'st  them  all. 


The  moment  comes,  the  only  one 

Of  all  my  time  to  be  foretold  ; 
Though  when,  and  where,  and  how,  can  none 

Of  all  the  race  of  man  unfold. 


That  moment  comes  when  strength  must  fail, 
When  health,  and  hope,  and  comfort  flown, 

I  must  go  down  into  the  vale 

And  shade  of  death  with  Thee  alone. 


Alone  with  Thee,  in  that  dread  strife, 
Uphold  me  through  mine  agony  ; 

And  gently  be  this  dying  life 
Exchanged  for  immortality. 


228  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 

Then,  when  th'  unbodied  spirit  lands 
"Where  flesh  and  blood  have  never  trod, 

And  in  the  unvail'd  presence  stands, 
Of  Thee,  my  Saviour  and  my  God  ; 


Be  mine  eternal  portion  this, 

Since  Thou  wert  always  here  with  me, 
That  I  may  view  Thy  face  in  bliss, 

And  be  for  evermore  with  Thee ! 


"PASSING     AWAY." — A     DREAM.        229 


"frashtj  ^Jtoag." — %  Dram, 

Was  it  the  chime  of  a  tiny  bell 

That  came  so  sweet  to  my  dreaming  ear, — 

Like  the  silvery  tones  of  a  fairy's  shell 
That  he  winds  on  the  beach  so  mellow  and 
clear, 

"When   the   winds  and    the   waves  lie  together 
asleep, 

And  the  moon  and  the  fairy  are  watching  the  deep, 
She  dispensing  her  silvery  light, 
And  he  his  notes,  as  silvery  quite, 

While  the  boatman  listens  and  ships  his  oar 

To  catch  the  music  that  comes  from  the  shore  ? 
Hark !  the  notes  on  my  ear  that  play 
Are  set  to  words, — as  they  float  they  say — 
"  Passing  away  !     Passing  away!" 

But  no  ;  it  was  not  a  fairy's  shell. 

Blown  on  the  beach  so  mellow  and  clear, 

Nor  was  it  the  tongue  of  a  silver  bell, 
Striking  the  hour  that  filled  my  ear, 

As  I  lay  .in  my  dream  ;  yet  was  it  a  chime 

That  told  of  the  flow  of  the  stream  of  time, 


230  HILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

For  a  beautiful  clock  from  the  ceiling  hung, 
And  a  plump  little  girl  for  a  pendulum  swung, 
(As  you  've  sometimes  seen  in  a  little  ring 
That  hangs  in  his  cage,  a  canary  bird  swing,) 
And  she  held  to  her  bosom  a  budding  bouquet, 
And  as  she  enjoy 'd  it  she  seem'd  to  say — 
"  Passing  away  !    Passing  away  !" 

0  how  bright  were  the  wheels  that  told 

Of  the  lapse  of  Time,  as  they  moved  round  slow! 
And  the  hands,  as  they  swept  o'er  the  dial  of  g<  >ld, 

Seem'd  to  point  to  the  girl  below. 
And  lo  !  she  had  changed  : — in  a  few  short  hours 
The  bouquet  had  become  a  garland  of  flowers, 
That  she  held  in  her  outstretch'd  hands,  and  flung 
This  way  and  that.  :is  she  dancing  swung 
In  the  fullness  of  grace  and  of  womanly  pride, 
Tli at  told  me  she  soon  was  to  be  a  bride ; — 
Yet  then,  when  expecting  her  happiest  day, 
In  the  same  sweet  voice  I  heard  her  say — 
"Passing  away!     Passing  away!" 

While  I  gazed  at  that  fair  one's  cheek,  a  shade  ' 
Of  thought  or  care  atole  softly  over, 

Like  that  by  a  cloud  in  a  summer's  day  made, 
Looking  down  on  a  field  of  blossoming  clover. 


"PASSING     A  WAV." — A      DREAM.  231 

The  rose  yet  lay  on  her  cheek,  but  its  flush 
Had  something  lost  of  its  brilliant  blush, 
And  the  light  in  her  eve,  and  the  light  <>n  the 
wheels 
That  niareh'd  so  calinlv  around,  above  her, 
Was  a  little  diram'd, — as  when  Evening  steals 
Upon  Noon's  hot  face  : — yet  one  could  not 
but  love  her ; 
For  she  look'd  like  a  mother  whose  first  babe  lay 
Rock'd  on  her  breast  as  she  swung  all  day, — 
And  she  seem'd,  in  the  same  silver  tone,  to  say — 
"  Passing  away  !     Passing  away  !" 


While  yet  I  look'd,  what  a  change  there  came  ! 

Her  eye  was  quench'd  and  her  cheek  was  wan ; 
Stooping  and  staffed  was  her  wither' d  frame, 

Yet  just  as  busily  swung  she  on  ; 
The  garland  beneath  her  had  fallen  to  dust. 
The  wheels  above  her  wore  eaten  with  rust ; 
The  hands  that  over  the  dial  swept 
Grew  crooked  and  tarnish'd,  but  on  they  kept ; 
And  still  there  came  that  silver  tone 
From  the  shriveled  lips  of  the  toothless  crone, — 

(Let  me  never  forget  till  my  dying  day 

The  tone  or  the  burden  of  her  lay,) — 

•;  Passing  away  !    Passing  away !" 


232  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 


§in  f  ra\ 
i. 

Day  of  wrath  !    that  day  dismaying,- 
As  the  seers  of  old  are  saying, 
All  the  world  in  ashes  laying. 


ir. 
What  the  fear !  and  what  the  quaking ! 
When  the  Judge  His  way  is  taking, 
Strictest  search  in  all  things  making. 


m. 
When  the  trump,  with  blast  astounding. 
Through  the  tombs  of  earth  resounding, 
Bids  all  stand,  the  throne  surrounding ! 


rv. 
Death  and  Nature  all  aghast  are, — 
While  the  dead  rise  fast  and  faster, 
Answering  to  their  Judge  and  Master ! 


DIES     IR2E.  233 

V. 

Forth  is  brought  the  record  solemn; 
See  o'erwrit  in  each  dread  column, 
"With  men's  deeds,  the  Doomsday  volume. 


VI. 

Now  the  Sov'reign  Judge  is  seated  ; 
All  long  hid,  is  loud  repeated  ; 
Naught  escapes  the  judgment  meted. 


vir. 


Ah  !  what  plea  shall  I  be  pleading? 

Who  for  me  be  interceding 

When  the  just  man  help  is  needing  ? 


VTTT. 

O  !    thou  King  of  awful  splendor  ; 
Of  salvation  free,  the  Sender, 
Grace  to  me,  All-gracious,  render! 

IX. 

Jesus,  Lord,  my  plea  let  this  be, 

Mine  the  woe,  that  brought  from  bliss  Thee; 

On  that  day,  Lord,  wilt  Thou  miss  me  \ 


234  HILLSIDE     FL0WEE8, 


Wearily  for  me  Thou  soughtest ; 

On  the  cross  my  soul  Thou  boughtest; 

Lose  not  all  for  which  Thou  wroughtest  ! 


XT. 

Vengeance,  Lord,  then  be  thy  mission  ! 
Now  of  sin  grant  free  remission 
Ere  that  day  of  inquisition. 


XII. 

Low  in  shame  before  Thee  groaning, 
I  Mushes  deep  my  sin  are  owning; 
Hear,  O  Lord,  my  suppliant  moaning  ! 

xm. 
Her  of  old  that  sinned  forgiving, 
And  the  dying  fehief  receiving, 

Thou,  to  me  too,  hope  art  giving. 


xrv. 
In  my  prayer,  though  sin  discerning, 
Yet,  good  Lord,  in  goodness  turning, 
Save  me  from  the  endless  burning! 


dies    i  u.k.  235 

xv. 
'Mid  Thy  sheep  be  my  place  given ; 
Far  the  goats  from  mo  be  driven ; 
At  Thy  right  hand  fix'd  in  heaven. 

XVI. 

When  the  cursed  are  confounded, 
With  devouring  flame  surrounded. 
With  the  blest  be  my  name  sounded. 


xvn. 
Bowed  and  prostrate  hear  me  crying ; 
Heart  in  dust  before  thee  lying  ; 
Lord,  my  end,  O  be  thou  nigh  in ! 


xvnr. 
Ah,  that  day  !    that  day  of  weeping  ! 
When  in  dust  no  longer  sleeping, 
flian  to  God  in  guilt  is  going, 
Lord,  be  then  thy  mercy  showing! 


236  HILL-SIDE    FLOWERS. 


%  Vizin  of  Immortaliti). 

BEING  A  SEQUEL  TO  "THANATOrSIS,"  AND  THE  "HYMN  TO  DEATH." 

I  who  essayed  to  sing  in  earlier  days 
The  Thanatopsis  and  the  Hymn  to  Death, 
Wake  now  the  Hymn  to  Immortality. 
Yet  once  again,  O  man,  come  forth  and  view 
The  haunts  of  Nature — walk  the  waving  fields, 
Enter  the  silent  groves,  or  pierce  again 
The  depths  of  the  untrodden  wilderness, 
And  she  shall  teach  thee. 

Thou  hast  learn'd  before 
One  lesson — and  her  Hymn  of  Death  hath  fallen 
With  melancholy  sweetness  on  thine  ear: 
Yet  she  shall  tell  thee  with  her  myriad  tongues 
That  life  is  there — life  in  uncounted  forms, 
Stealing  in  silence  through  the  hidden  roots, 
In  every  branch  that  swings — in  the  green  leaves 
And  waving  grain,  and  the  gay  summer  flowers 
That  gladden  the  beholder. 


A     VISION     OF     IMMORTALITY.  237 

Listen  now, 
And  she  shall  teach  thee  that  the  dead  have  slept 
But  to  awaken  in  more  glorious  forms — ■ 
And  that  the  mystery  of  the  soul's  decay 
Is  but  the  promise  of  the  coming  life. 
Each  towering  oak  that  lifts  its  living  head 
To  the  broad  sunlight  in  eternal  strength, 
Glories  to  tell  thee  that  the  acorn  died. 
The  flowers  that  spring  above  their  last  year's 

grave 
Are  eloquent  with  the  voice  of  love  and  hope, 
And  the  green  trees  clap  their  rejoicing  hands, 
"Waving  in  triumph  o'er  the  earth's  decay  ! 
Yet  not  alone  shall  flower  and  forest  raise 
The  voice  of  triumph  and  the  hymn  of  life. 
The  insect  brood  are  there  ! — each  painted  wing 
That  flutters  in  the  sunshine,  broke  but  now 
From  the  close  cerements  of  a  worm's  own  shroud, 
Is  telling,  as  it  flies,  how  life  may  spring 
In  its  glad  beauty  from  the  gloom  of  death, 
Where  the  crush'd  mold  beneath  the  sunken 

foot 
Seems  but  the  sepulchre  of  old  decay  ; 
Turn  thou  a  keener  glance,  and  thou  shalt  find 
The  gather' d  myriads  of  a  mimic  world. 
The  breath  of  evening  and  the  sultry  morn 
Bears  on  its  wing  a  cloud  of  witnesses, 


23S  li  ILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

That  earth,  from  her  unnumber'd  caves  of  death, 
Sends  forth  a  mightier  tide  of  teeming  life. 


liaise  then  the  Hymn  to  Immortality  : 
The  broad,  green  prairies,  and  the  wilderness, 
And  the  old  cities,  where  the  dead  have  slept 
Age  upon  age,  a  thousand  graves  in  one, 
Shall  yet  be  crowded  with  the  living  forms 
Of  myriads,  waking  from  the  silent  dust. 
Kings  that  lay  down  in  state,  and  earth's  poor 

slaves 
Resting  together  in  one  fond  embrace. 
The  white-hair'd  patriarch  and  the  tender  babe 
Grown  old  together,  in  the  flight  of  years ; 
They  of  immortal  fame,  and  they  whose  praise 
Was  never  sounded  in  the  ears  of  men — 
Archon    and    priest,    and    the    poor    common 

crowd — 
All  the  vast  concourse  in  the  halls  of  Death, 
Shall  waken  from  the  dreams  of  silent  years 
To  hail  the  dawn  of  the  immortal  day. 
Ay,  learn  the  lesson  !     Though,  the  worm  shall  be 
Thy  brother  in  the  mystery  of  death  ! 
And   all   shall  pass— -humble,  and  proud,  and 

gay- 
Together,  to  earth's  mighty  charnel-house, 


A      VISION     OF     [MMOETALITY.  239 

Yet  the  Immortal  is  thy  heritage ! 

The  grave  shall  gather   thee :    yet   thou   shalt 

come, 
Beggar  or  prince,  not  as  thou  wentest  forth, 
In  rags  or  purple,  hut  array'd  as  those 
Whose  mortal  puts  on  immortality  ! 


Then  mourn  not  when  thou  markest  the  decay 
Of  Nature,  and  her  solemn  hymn  of  death 
Steals  with  a  note  of  sadness  to  thy  heart, 
That  other  voice  with  its  rejoicing  tones 
Breaks    from    the    mold    with    every  bursting 

flower, 
"  O  grave  !  thy  victory!  " 

And  thou,  O  man, 
BurdenVl  with  sorrow  at  the  woes  that  crowd 
Thy  narrow  heritage,  lift  up  thy  head 
In  the  strong  hope  of  the  undying  life, 
And  shout  the  Hymn  to  Immortality. 
The  dear  departed  that  have  pass'd  away 
To  the  still  house  of  Death,  leaving  thine  own  ; 
The  gray-hair' d  sire  that  died  in  blessing  thee, 
Mother,  or  sweet-lipp'd  babe,  or  she  who  gave 
Thy  home  the  light  and  bloom  of  Paradise — 
They  shall  be  thine  again,  when  thou  shalf  pass, 


240  II  ILL-SIDE     FLOWERS. 

At  God's   appointment,  through  the   shadowy 

vale, 
To  reach  the  sunlight  of  the  Immortal  Hills. 

And  thou  that  gloriest  to  lie  down  with  kings 
Thine  uncrown'd  head,  now  lowlier  than  theirs, 
Seek  thou  the  loftier  glory  to  be  known 
A  king  and  priest  to  God — when  thou  shalt  pa>s 
Forth  from  these  silent  halls  to  take  thy  place 
With    patriarchs    and    the    prophets,   and   the 

bless'd, 
Gone  up  from  every  land  to  people  heaven ; 
So  live  that  when  the  mighty  caravan, 
Which  halts  one  night-time  in  the  vale  of  death, 
Shall  strike  its  white  tents  for  the  morning  march. 
Thou  shalt  mount  onward  to  the  Eternal  Hills, 
Thy  foot  unwearied,  and  thy  strength  renew'd, 
Like  the  strong  eagle's,  for  the  upward  flight. 


nil.    END. 


THE  LIBRARY 
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